All That Glitters
by AnnissaM
Summary: A coup in the Goblin Kingdom sends Jareth Above without his powers and without his memory, and a reluctant Sarah attempts to help him get back on his feet. But things are often not as they seem - not for anyone. A story about gossip, lies, and recklessly doing good.
1. Memory Loss and Dick Jokes

If Jareth hadn't been spinning crystals at the exact moment his powers were dampened, he might not have noticed it had happened. It was a lucky break, really. He'd anticipated this move years earlier and had already neatly packaged the necessary spells into a crystal, ready to be broken at a moment's notice. All they'd done with their dampening spell was give him notice that they were on their way. Sloppy, but they'd always underestimated him, assuming his level of intelligence was no greater than that of his subjects'. Their mistake afforded him more than enough time to collect the prepared crystal and return to his throne where he lounged in his most care-free posture. He was almost impatient by the time Greevy finally stumbled into the throne room well ahead of Jareth's uninvited visitors.

"Your Majesty!" Greevy shouted, trying to catch his breath as he approached the throne. "A bunch of… _people!_ From that other king's court!" Greevy stopped just short of the dais and his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "_Fae!"_

Jareth sighed, his patience - never one of his stronger attributes - too thin to deal with the anxiety of a high-strung hobgoblin. He waved Greevy away and watched the door.

Their footsteps announced their presence long before they appeared in the doorway. They entered two-by-two and spread themselves in a semi-circle in front of Jareth's throne, each dressed in the red and gold of the High King and carrying a long spear tipped with a razor sharp spearhead. The elaborate tassels that hung just below the tips indicated that the weapons were more for decoration than combat. When they attacked, it would be with magic.

Last to enter was a man dressed differently from the rest in shades of blue and lustrous silver. He marched to the center of the semi-circle and took in a large breath. "Jareth, King of the Goblins, by order of the High King, you are under arrest!" he shouted.

Jareth arched an impeccably groomed brow while the goblins in the throne room whispered to themselves. He reached into his cloak and the guards responded by pointing their spears at him. With his magic dampened, Jareth supposed a sharp spear point would actually hurt. Slowly, he removed his hand from his cloak, a bright green leaf held between his fingers.

"Mint?" he offered the man.

The man glared.

Jareth sighed and put the leaf in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before finally asking, "The charges?"

"High treason."

"Is that all?" he asked, as if there were far more serious crimes they could charge him with if they only knew about them..

Jareth's goblins giggled.

"_Is that all?"_ he repeated. "You betrayed your king!"

Jareth reached into his cloak again. No reaction this time, he noticed. At least, not until he pulled out the crystal. A couple of the guards winced. Several more took a step backward, destroying the line of the semi-circle.

Jareth smiled, showing his teeth. He tossed the crystal lightly, then caught it again, and looked deeply into its depths.

"And how is it that I am meant to have betrayed my king-" Jareth paused as if looking for the answer within the crystal. Then his eyes snapped to the man. "-Gospatric?"

If Gospatric was surprised Jareth knew his name, he didn't show it. He didn't even flinch.

"You allowed a runner solve your Labyrinth. You intentionally returned a child to the Above against the express wishes of your king."

Jareth shrugged. "The girl won and she was entitled to her prize. Those are the rules, and we can't break those, can we?"

"Isn't it true," Gospatric continued, "you had no intention of handing the child over to your king?"

Leaning back in his throne once more, Jareth said, "I don't recall promising the child to him."

Gospatric's demeanor cracked and he sputtered, "You don't…? Providing children to Faerie is your sole reason for existing!"

Jareth threw back his head and laughed. He heard his voice ring out solo in the cavernous room then stopped and threw an ugly look toward his subjects. The goblins all began hooting with laughter and Jareth joined them while Gospatric and the rest of the Guard looked at the scene with disdain.

"Quiet!" Jareth commanded, and the goblins fell silent. He turned his attention back to Gospatric and the Guard. "I do not exist for the High King's pleasure."

For the first time, Gospatric smiled. "Then you plead guilty," he declared.

Jareth leaned forward, spinning the prepared crystal over his hand and onto his fingertips. "My plea is irrelevant, is it not?" His eyes scanned the Guard. "You come to convict, to use me as an object lesson to dissuade others from rebelling against the High King's wishes."

"I, as a loyal subject of our king, come to carry out his orders," Gospatric preened, bowing ever so slightly.

"And put your son on my throne."

Gospatric straightened.

Jareth laughed. "Did you think I would forget? I wonder, how do you think that will work, your son on the throne of the Goblin Kingdom. It's been so long since… Well, you know." He threw Gospatric a knowing look. "Do you think _he_ will remember? Will he find it _natural_ to be here? Do you think he might really be a-"

"Arrest him!" Gospatric shouted.

A whisper rose from the Guard as they each began to recite their own incantation.

"And if he's not," Jareth continued, "Do you think he'll be able to control the goblins? If he fails, what do you think they might do to him? How long do you think it will be before the wretched things find their way out of the Labyrinth and begin to invade your precious Faerie?"

Gospatric's face turned deep red and he pulled a crystal of his own from his robes and began his own incantation.

Jareth felt the Guards' magic begin to curl around him, spinning a web that would trap him. He stood, letting his cloak fall to the floor, and smiled. "Enjoy what little time you've got," he said, then dropped the crystal. Immediately, a blue-grey vortex surrounded him and began to pull him away from the creeping magic of the Guards and pushing him toward the little park where his provisions lay hidden under a small, unassuming cairn far off the beaten path. Once he collected it, he could easily afford to move around Above, even if his magic was never undamped. The preserved magic was slower than his unfettered magic, but effective. He felt himself slipping free of the Guards' magical net, then swallowed the leaf in his mouth.

But the vortex caused Jareth to fail notice several things. Firstly, he did not notice the gestures Gospatric made over his crystal as the vortex spun around him. Secondly, he failed to notice the silvery-white substance that poured from his body and streamed into the crystal Gospatric held. Lastly, he did not see Gospatric's ecstatic smile as the crystal became as gray as a summer storm.

However, Jareth could not miss the pain in his head as he was pulled from the throne room. It blinded him, causing all thoughts of his next steps to flee his mind. He didn't even have a moment to be grateful that his preserved magic had worked exactly as intended. The veil between the Underground and Above was sealed, breakable only by the Goblin King. The pain grew until he feared his head would split and an agonized scream was wrenched from him.

He arrived Above, but crumpled, still screaming, when he hit the ground.

* * *

As the blue-grey vortex swallowed Jareth, the smile fell from Gospatric's face. "Follow him!" he shouted to the guards.

There was a long pause.

"Well?" the Head of the Guard asked one of his men.

"The scrying crystal says he's still here, sir."

The Head of the Guard cursed, then looked at Gospatric. "What are your orders?"

But Gospatric was not looking back at the Head of the Guard. He was looking at the crystal in his hand, studying the grey mist that swirled within. "Leave him," he said, finally. "It's only his body. I have everything that matters _right here_." He stared into the crystal a moment longer, listening to the murmuring of the goblins.

"What do you mean, sir?" the Head of the Guard asked.

"The Goblin King," Gospatric said dramatically, "is dead." He closed his eyes to savor the moment.

"How can that be?"

Gospatric looked at the Head of the Guard shrewdly. "I think you've forgotten your place."

The Head of the Guard took a step back and looked at his feet. "Yes, sir."

"I have removed everything that made him _him_," Gospatric said. "All that remains, all that he took with him is the bag of hobgoblin bones he was born in. If he manages to survive Above, and he won't, he'll simply age and die like every other being that exists up there."

The Head of the Guard suppressed a shiver.

"What are they saying?" a goblin whispered.

"That blue guy says the king is dead!" a goblin whispered back.

"Deaf?" another asked more loudly, the other goblins beginning to speak over each other.

"No, dummy! Dead!" another shouted and a couple hooted with laughter.

"What's dead?" a couple more asked, one speaking half a second after the first.

"Dead is he ain't coming back no more," one sniffed.

A couple goblins howled. More laughed.

"Who's gonna be king now?"

"Ooh, me!"

"It can't be you! The boots won't fit!"

"Those were _very_ good boots."

All of the goblins agreed, most very loudly.

"Quiet!" Gospatric shouted. It didn't have the same effect as when Jareth had done it and the goblins continued to talk, laugh, and shout, growing more and more raucous with every second.

Gospatric dodged a flying goblin who landed just beyond him.

"See?" The goblin said. "The King's boots make you go further!"

"Boots do not make a king, you idiots!" Gospatric shouted.

That got the goblins' attention.

"Do you know what does?" he continued, more softly.

The goblins stared at him, wide-eyed. Tentatively, one asked, "The bulge?"

"The what?"

"You know," the goblin said and pointed downward.

There was a general murmur of agreement and one enthusiastic shout of "Yeah, we haven't seen no one else with one of those!"

Gospatric closed his eyes and sighed. "No, not the… Not that. What makes a king is _this._" He held the grey crystal so the goblins could see. "This is the essence of the Goblin King. I took it straight from Jareth himself."

The goblins collectively ooh'd.

"Can I hold it?" one asked.

"Absolutely not," Gospatric said. "Only the king can hold it."

The same voice rang out, "So _balls_ make the king!"

Gospatric pinched the bridge of his nose. "What has he been teaching these cretins," he murmured to himself. He turned to the Head of the Guard. "Summon my son," he said. With one hand, Gospatric held the crystal aloft, staring at it as it began to shrink, the color becoming darker and more opaque. With the other, he summoned a sceptre of silver and gold. Carefully, and with no small amount of pomp, he affixed the crystal to the head of the sceptre.

The goblins watched, rapt.

"Father?" a timid voice broke the awed silence..

Gospatric swung his arm toward the new arrival. "Long live Acton, King of the Goblins!" he shouted, and the guards shot to attention.

"He don't look like no king to me," a goblin said.

"That's because he doesn't have balls," added another, wisely.

Gospatric reddened, though not as much as his son did. Deliberately, he handed the sceptre l to Acton. "King Acton," he said to the goblins, gesturing clearly to his son.

There was a general oohing from the assembly.

"Acton," he said, smiling widely, "Welcome home, son."

Acton looked around and grimaced. "You can't be serious, Father."

The smile slid off Gospatric's face. He grabbed Acton by the ear and swung him around to face him. "You dare question my gift to you? Have you any idea what I needed to do to ensure your place in the kingdom?"

One or two of the guards shuffled self-consciously.

Acton held his ear, bending at the waist in supplication. "Sorry, Father," he whined.

Gospatric's face softened as he laid his hand on his son's back and encouraged him to stand straight and climb the stairs to the throne. "This is all yours now," he said warmly to his son. "You will rule the Labyrinth and ensure the mortals who enter it never leave. You will pledge every infant to your king and become his most beloved servant. You will bring honor to your family." His face then darkened. "Do you understand?"

"Y...yes, Father."

"Very good." He gestured to the sceptre. "The Sceptre of the Goblin King is the symbol of your office. It contains all of the knowledge of the former Goblin King. With it in hand, no one will question your place here."

"Yes, Father."

Gospatric turned to leave.

"Father, wait!"

He turned back to his son, his face expectant.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"It's the Goblin Kingdom, boy," he laughed. "If a hobgoblin can figure it out, how hard can it be?"

Acton watched helplessly as his father faded away, followed closely by the guards. He looked around him, trying not to show fear at the dozens of beady, yellow eyes that stared up at him. One by one, the goblins began to laugh.

* * *

The pain in Jareth's head began to recede, leaving him gasping for air on the cold, wet grass. He laid there for a moment, then pushed himself onto his hands and knees, trying to get his bearings. In the distance, several people were staring at him, concern and wariness etched on their faces. Closer, a young man ran to him, with a few others following close behind.

Jareth stood, his knees weak.

"Hey, man… you ok?" the man asked, looking Jareth up and down.

"Halloween's not for two weeks, loser!" an older boy on a bike yelled as he passed.

The young man glared at the boy, who had already ridden too far to be yelled after.

Jareth looked down at himself and saw boots, trousers, and billowy shirt. Nothing like the other people were wearing, but his clothes seemed right. _Theirs _were wrong.

Weren't they?

"What's your name?" the man asked, touching Jareth gingerly on the shoulder.

Jareth looked at where the man's hand touched him, then shrugged the man off.

"Someone call 9-1-1," the man said toward the gathering crowd. Another young man nodded and ran off.

This didn't make sense. None of it. All wrong. It was all wrong.

His breath started to come faster as he began to panic.

"Sir? What's your name?" the man asked again, a little more slowly and with more volume.

"I…" Jareth started, his voice sounding strange even to him. "I don't know."


	2. These Things Happen to Other People

"She is absolutely perfect," Sarah cooed, holding her index finger out so the newborn could hold it in her surprisingly tight grasp.

Lying in her hospital bed, Sadie smiled indulgently at the brand new baby in her arms.

"Can I just say how glad I am that you moved back?" Sarah said.

"Me too," Sadie agreed. "And like I said, it just made sense with Charles' work schedule. It was either hire a live-in nanny or move back so my mom could help with the baby. And the thought of a stranger living with me...?" She affected a shudder.

"How much time did he get off work?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? None. He got _none._ They expect him back to work on Monday. He said he was lucky they let him leave when he found out I was in labor."

"That's crazy!" Sarah exclaimed, mildly outraged.

"They work him like a dog, Sarah. But in a few years, he'll make partner and then-"

"Things will be exactly the same?" Sarah guessed.

Sadie sighed. "Yeah, probably. It's a good thing he's cute."

"And loaded."

Sadie swatted at her.

"Seriously, though… you're not missing him too much, are you?"

"I see him exactly the same amount I did when I was in the City. It's just that now I'm not as miserable while he's away."

"It's just that I know things didn't turn out quite the way…"

"Enough of that. I'm glad I'm here I'm glad you're here," she said. "How are _you_ doing?" she asked.

"Uh… fine?"

"Really," Sadie insisted.

"Really fine."

"It's just… I kind of expected things to go back to the way they were…" Sadie paused as if she didn't know how to finish. "You know… before."

Sarah looked back at the tiny baby, gently wiggling her finger in the infant's grasp.

"Sarah," Sadie insisted.

"I don't really know what you're asking me, Sadie." Sarah shrugged. "He's gone and I'm fine."

"Are you dating anyone?"

"You know I'm not."

"And why not?"

Sarah laughed. "We can't all expect to find rich, handsome men right upstairs, Sadie."

Sadie colored. From embarrassment or irritation, Sarah couldn't tell.

"Look, Sarah, you know I love you. Right?"

Sarah braced herself.

"I'm only concerned. It's been six months and, as far as I can tell, your life still revolves around Ja…" She stopped and pursed her lips.

"You can say his name. It's not like you guys weren't friends."

"Jason," Sadie finished, then studied Sarah's face for a long moment. "Sarah," she said cautiously. "You were going to break up with him. Remember what you told me? That you never really know somebody until you live with them?"

"So true."

Sadie frowned.

"I've been thinking about it a lot," Sarah said.

"Of course you have." Sadie's voice was soft. Sympathetic.

"I think he knew I was going to leave him, he just beat me to the punch."

The sympathy fell from Sadie's face. "Stop it."

"Stop what? All he had to do was fix the garage door, the lazy ass."

"Sarah," Sadie said, her tone a warning. "This isn't about the stupid garage door! This is about you not moving on. Look, I'm sorry. I know it's hard, I really do…"

"Do you?" Sarah asked, all humor leaving her. "Sadie, you married into a wealthy family. You own two homes. You can have anything you want, anytime you want it. How can you possibly know how hard this is?"

"Don't pretend your family is poor, Sarah. And I didn't marry Charles for his money."

"I am doing this all on my own!"

"But you don't have to! That's my point, Sarah!"

The baby began to fuss. Both women looked down at her and Sadie began to rock her.

"It's getting late," Sarah said. "I'd better go."

"Wait," Sadie said. "I mean it, Sarah. I love you. I just want you to be happy."

"Yeah. I know." Sarah replied and gave her a half-hearted smile.

"They're supposed to release me on Sunday. Why don't you come by? Keep me company when Charles goes back to the City on Monday."

Sarah smile grew warmer. "Yeah, ok." She waved goodbye to the baby, feeling a little silly about the gesture, then left the room.

* * *

Her shoulders slumped the moment she left Sadie's room. Fighting with a friend was never fun, but Sarah especially didn't like the conversation turning to her problems when more important things were happening. Sadie had just had a baby! And she still wanted to focus on Sarah?

She peeked into the nursery as she walked past the picture window, but she didn't slow her pace. At least six brand new little humans lay in bassinets on the other side of the glass. A year ago, everyone she knew thought she'd have one of her own by now.

She pressed the button for the elevator. While she waited, she was joined by two orderlies in white jackets. They stood silently next to her as the numbers above the elevator counted up to their floor. The elevator dinged and all three stepped into the car.

One of the orderlies pressed the button for the first floor, then looked at Sarah expectantly.

"Same," she said.

They waited in silence for the door to close, then began their descent.

"You're Sarah Williams, right?" one of the men asked.

Sarah watched the elevator count down the floors as they descended. Luckily, the hospital was small. "Yeah," she answered.

"Huh," he replied, but Sarah didn't miss the look the two men shared before they reached the ground floor and she hoped the conversation would go no further.

Sarah could hear the commotion on the ground floor before the elevator doors opened.

The orderlies rushed out of the elevator and entered the fray, blocking Sarah's view. She stepped from the car, then skirted around the struggling group of men trying to catch a glimpse of the man in the center. She recognized Officer Mcgillicuddy in the group and wondered what the man had done to require both police and EMTs.

And then she saw him.

If the hair hadn't been a dead giveaway, the rest of his clothing would have been. The flowy shirt, the tight trousers, the tall boots, all exactly the way she would have expected him to dress, except sloppy. Disheveled. Not at all what he'd looked like the last time she'd seen him. Maybe that was why she didn't stop to think before she shouted. "Jareth! What the hell are you doing here?"

All commotion ceased. The hospital staff turned to look at her and Jareth stood at the center looking just as shocked as the others.

Officer Mcgillicuddy was the first to break the silence. "Miss Williams? Do you know this man?"

Sarah watched Jareth's eyes look her up and down, and then he relaxed and looked pleased. "Of course she does," he drawled. "Just look at her."

She glared at him, then realized her mistake. "Um. No, actually. Case of mistaken identity. Sorry, Officer Mcgillicuddy." She turned to leave, but only got a couple of steps.

"Sarah," Officer Mcgillicuddy said loudly. "Are you sure you want to abandon your friend here? In front of all these people?"

Sarah flinched at the sound of her first name coming from the officer. He was normally entirely professional. She turned back to face him and glared daggers at Jareth. Leave it to him to rattle the most level-headed officer in town.

"What did he do?"

"Well, nothing really. He just can't answer any questions. We brought him in for a psych evaluation."

Sarah nodded slowly. "That is probably a good idea. He's crazy. This is the best place for him, really."

Officer Mcgillicuddy narrowed his eyes and Sarah knew he wouldn't believe anything that had even the slightest whiff of bullshit.

If he only knew.

"Where do you know him from, Miss Williams?"

"Oh…" Sarah thought hard. The truth wasn't going to fly. No way. Not even if Officer Mcgillicuddy wasn't already more familiar with Sarah than she'd like. "He...um… he was a TA in one of my college classes. Gave me a bad grade on a paper once. I wasn't expecting to see him again."

The hospital staff began to relax as Jareth stopped fighting them. He pulled his arms away from them and shrugged his shirt back into place.

"Does that sound right to you?" Officer Mcgillicuddy asked.

"Almost," Jareth said smoothly. "We were quite a bit closer than that, weren't we, Sarah? I'm not your TA anymore, so I think we can afford to be truthful."

Sarah felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and she heard a flurry of whispers among the hospital staff. She started to protest, but Officer Mcgillicuddy was already speaking.

"Your memory coming back, then? Good. Do you remember your last name?" He was watching Jareth closely, gauging his reaction.

Jareth's eyes flicked down to Officer Mcgillicuddy's name badge. "McG...owan," Jareth answered.

"Jareth McGowan."

Jareth raised his chin. "Yes?"

"And where are you from, Mr. McGowan?"

Jareth's eyes flicked to Sarah. "Sarah's college."

"Sir, I'm not interested in playing games. Please answer the question."

"Sounds like England to me," someone in the crowd offered.

"Yes, of course. I misunderstood," Jareth answered. He turned back to Officer McGillicuddy. "I'm from London, originally."

"May I see your passport?"

"My what?"

"Your _passport,_" the officer insisted. "You must have one to enter the US."

"Yes, of course. I don't have it on me at the moment. No pockets, you see." Jareth patted his trousers.

Some of the hospital staff snickered.

"I'm going to ask you just once and I'm going to need you to be honest with me, sir. Are you here legally?"

"Of course, officer," Jareth answered indignantly. "I wouldn't be allowed to work at the school if I wasn't."

There was a crackle of static from the officer's radio and then a voice quickly rattled off a series of numbers. Officer Mcgillicuddy took half a step backward, then cocked his head to the side to speak into the microphone. "On my way."

"Mr. McGowan, I'm not going to force you to stay here-"

A nurse loudly thanked the higher power she believed in, but Officer Mcgillicuddy ignored her.

He continued, "I suggest you get home, get your papers in order, and get some proper clothing. I'm sure Miss Williams here can help you out..."

"Officer, I have never... I mean we weren't…," Sarah began to protest.

"Regardless of any past unpleasantness you may have had," he added meaningfully as he stepped around Sarah and walked out of the hospital to his waiting cruiser.

Sarah looked at the hospital staff that had gathered. Most of them were watching with various expressions of interest and amusement. A nurse turned to whisper into the ear of one of her colleagues.

"Let's go," she said to Jareth, and without waiting for an answer, turned on her heel and followed Officer McGillicuddy out of the hospital.

* * *

Sarah could hear Jareth's boots on the pavement behind her as she hurried to her car. If she was lucky, he'd disappear or fly off somewhere before she had to look at him again.

It had been stupid to speak on Jareth's behalf. If she'd taken a moment to think before yelling at him, she could have sneaked out of the hospital without him noticing her at all and he'd still be the hospital's problem.

In fact, he still could be if she could make it to her car and ditch him. She could deal with Officer Mcgillicuddy tomorrow.

She picked up her pace, opened her car door and slipped behind the wheel. She leaned across to lock the passenger door, but it was too late. Jareth had opened it and was already sliding into the seat beside her.

If she lived in a larger town, she thought to herself, she would have locked her car doors.

She faced forward and chewed her lip. She could feel him watching her.

"What?" she demanded, finally. "What are you doing here?"

When he didn't answer immediately, she turned to study him. His clothes were disheveled from the manhandling he'd gotten in the hospital, and Sarah noticed the markings around his eyes were smudged. Makeup, then. She'd always assumed they were natural since she'd first seen him that stormy night some thirteen years…

Aha!

"It's been thirteen years. Of course you'd come back now. What did you come for, Jareth? If it's Toby, you can just forget it. He might smell like one of your goblins these days, but trust me, he's far too interested in girls right now to run off with the likes of you."

Jareth looked back toward the hospital where a crowd had gathered on the other side of the windows to watch them. "We should go," he said.

Sarah looked at the crowd and scowled. "Yeah, we should." She started the car and slowly pulled out of her parking spot.

"You didn't answer my question," she said as she cautiously drove to the entrance of the parking lot. "Why are you here?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Sarah said, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

"Must you repeat everything I say?" Jareth said, irritably.

"That's a nice tone to take with someone who has zero reason to help you out."

"Why fuss over doing an old friend a favor?"

Sarah side-eyed him. "I don't owe you any favors, and you know it."

"I didn't ask you to intervene."

"I can turn around and take you right back."

He looked out the window. Sarah took that as a concession, and pulled out of the parking lot.

"I was a TA at your school?" he asked.

Sarah furrowed her brow. "What?" she asked.

"You said I was a TA at your school. What else do you know about me?"

She hit the brakes, stopping the car in the middle of the road. "Jareth, I swear on all that is good and holy, this better not be some kind of trick," she warned. "Do you really not remember who you are?"

He merely looked at her.

"Tell me what you remember."

"Pain," he said. "Pain in my head and then waking up outside."

"When was that?"

"The sun was low in the sky."

"Tonight, then?"

"Yes, tonight," he replied, annoyed.

"Nothing before then?"

"Not a thing."

Sarah sat back in her seat, unsure. "I should have left you at the hospital. You could have a brain injury." She glanced behind at the brightly-lit building. A few people had wandered away, but most were still at the windows watching her as she sat idling in the middle of the road.

"I won't go back," he said.

"Why not?"

"You seem to know me," he said, ignoring her question. "Tell me about myself."

She hesitated. "I don't know what you want to hear."

"Anything."

Sarah grimaced. "The truth is, I don't really know you at all. I met you once when I was fifteen and I haven't seen you since."

"Where did we meet?"

She chewed her lip. She'd never told anyone about this, and talking about it felt odd. Wrong.

"It was late. I was babysitting," she started. "Does this ring a bell at all?"

He shook his head.

"You knocked on my window. Well, not _my_ window. My parents' bedroom window. Where Toby was sleeping."

"Did you frequently invite men over while you were babysitting?" he asked.

She glared at him. "Never. And you weren't invited." She paused, considering. "Well, actually, I guess you kind of were. But I didn't mean it and you should have known that. I was only fifteen, and you were…" She gestured at him and he looked down at himself as if his clothing would reveal the secret of his age.

"I was…?"

"You know…"

"No, that's the problem, Sarah."

"You were…"

He gestured impatiently.

"The Goblin King."

His hands fell into his lap and he stared at her.

"You know… Steals little children from their homes and turns them into goblins?"

His eyes were cold, his mouth set into a hard line. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

"I could ask you the same thing, you know," Sarah said harshly.

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes narrow and hard.

She continued, almost defensive. "I wished that the goblins would take away my baby brother. They did. You showed up and offered me a gift in exchange for him and I refused. So you made me run your Labyrinth to get him back. You cheated, I won, and then you sent us home."

Jareth was silent.

"When we get back to my place, I'll call Hoggle in the mirror and see what he can do. Maybe we can Through-the-Looking-Glass you back home or something."

"Unbelievable," Jareth murmured more to himself than to Sarah, then opened the car door and stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

"Hey!" Sarah shouted, rolling down her window. "Where do you think you're going?"

"You were right," he said as he crossed the street. "I was better off at the hospital." The fact that he wasn't returning to the hospital wasn't lost on her.

"Fine! I don't owe you anything, anyway!" She threw the car into gear, hit the gas, and hoped he'd choke on her exhaust.

She fumed as she drove, angry at Jareth for not believing her and angry at herself for trying to help him in the first place. She hadn't bothered to look at how many people were still watching when Jareth got out of her car. Hopefully enough that her leaving him behind was part of the stories they'd tell in the morning. The last thing she needed was people saying she was taking men back to the house.

When she arrived home, she let herself inside, kicked off her shoes, threw her jacket over the back of the couch, and went straight for her room. Standing in front of her mirror, she said, "Hoggle, I need you," and waited expectantly.

Nothing.

"Hoggle, I need you," she tried again.

"Sir Didymus?"

No response.

"Ludo? Anyone?"

Sarah stepped back and sat on her bed. Something terrible must have happened if Jareth was here and her friends weren't answering. She wondered if maybe she'd been too hasty letting him wander off.

But then she thought about having Jareth in her home and shuddered.

He was charismatic enough, she figured. He'd charm someone into letting him in. And besides, he walked away from her. Not even that jerk Mcgillicuddy could argue with that. Jareth was officially not her problem.

She glanced at the mirror and tried not to worry about her friends.

* * *

AN: Chapter title taken from "She's an Angel" by They Might Be Giants


	3. OMG! There's Only One Bed!

Sarah woke late the next morning to the sound of light rain hitting her window, but stayed in bed for a long while, staring at her mirror for any signs that someone else may be on the other side. Occasionally, she dozed, but when a headache threatened from lying down too long, she rose and threw on some clothes that weren't quite dirty enough to end up in the hamper.

She hesitated for a moment before peeking through the bedroom curtains, fully expecting Jareth to be standing in her front yard, glaring at her.

The rain had stopped, but gray clouds still hung low, suggesting they weren't quite done soaking the town. But there was no Jareth. He was gone.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she went to the kitchen and started the coffee. She opened the cupboard to pull out a mug, but stopped short, staring at the empty cupboard with mild dissatisfaction. The housework had gotten away from her, no question. She'd get to it eventually… but not today. Today was the day she was setting aside to do nothing. Today was her day of rest.

She opened the fridge, then closed it again. Apparently today would be her day of grocery shopping and tomorrow would be her day of rest.

She washed a single mug and poured her coffee, sipping it while she made a list of pantry essentials she was missing. As she wrote, she flipped through the channels on the TV, half-watching a few episodes of whatever was playing and changing the channel whenever _The 700 Club_ threatened her peaceful day.

Hunger chased her out of the house in the late afternoon. She'd missed another light drizzle, but the yellow and brown leaves that had begun to fall from the Maple in her front yard squished under her feet, soaking her shoes. She knew she could either rake the leaves for the city to collect in a couple of weeks, or she could let them lie there, mulching into the grass over the winter. She chose the second option.

She groaned when she pulled into the grocery store's little parking lot. Even in small towns, Saturdays were the busiest shopping day, and she wished she'd done hers the night before, when the store was slow.

Stupid Jareth. Throwing off her schedule.

She carefully avoided the other shoppers as she made her way through the store picking up bread, milk, and eggs. Pasta, potatoes, and boxes of flavored rice pilaf were cheap and filling. Two-liter bottles of soda were on sale and she splurged on a couple of those as well.

The cashier was curt, but not overtly rude as Sarah checked out, for which she was grateful. She breathed a sigh of relief after she packed the groceries into her car and began the drive back to her house. The rain began to pick up again as she drove, and she turned on her windshield wipers.

A lone figure sitting on a bench in the park caught her eye as she drove past, and for a moment, she pitied him for being caught in the rain. But as she drew closer, she recognized him.

Jareth.

He'd curled in on himself, the blousy shirt he was wearing no match for the cold October rain. His hair had lost its strange style and now laid plastered to his head.

Something deep inside Sarah twisted. She clenched her teeth, determined to drive right past him. He wasn't her problem.

So it was a surprise even to herself when she pulled her car to the side of the road directly in front of the bench on which he sat, pulled up the hood of her coat, and stepped out of her car.

"Jareth," she said.

He did not respond.

Biting her lip, she said his name again, then closed her car door and approached.

"Whatcha doin'?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

Again, no response.

Her voice lost its lightness. "Jareth, why didn't you go back to the hospital?"

His eyes finally lifted, and he looked at her. Most of his makeup was gone, but what little remained ran in ugly streaks down his cheeks. He looked half-frozen.

"Or to a cafe? Or _anywhere?_ You're going to get sick out here like this."

"There is no one here who will care."

Sarah couldn't help but see the truth in that statement.

"I tried to help you last night," she reminded him.

"You told me I was a goblin."

"Goblin _King_," she corrected.

He shot her a dirty look. "How helpful can you be if you will lie to me about something so petty?"

She thought about that for a moment, at a complete loss for words, then sat on the bench next to him and cringed as the rainwater began to seep into her jeans. "Look," she said, finally. "I know your name is Jareth, and that's about it. Everything else is kind of a mystery. I met you once and you weren't particularly nice to me. We really did play a game and you really did cheat." She tried not to choke on her words as she said them. Calling the Labyrinth a game felt insulting to both of them.

When he shot her an offended look, she believed for a fraction of a second that his memory had returned. Then she realized he was reacting to being called a cheater.

"It's true," she continued, unwilling to allow him to believe that he'd been in any way kind to her so long ago. "And so last night I wasn't real interested in helping you, ok? I don't even know why I stuck my neck out as much as I did. It was stupid. And I'm sorry."

"For sticking your neck out or for lying?"

She bit her tongue. "A little of both, I guess," she said through gritted teeth.

Jareth hmphed, but said nothing more.

She studied him for a brief moment. He was more open than he'd been thirteen years earlier. His pride was still there, but… he was vulnerable, she realized. And he wasn't bothering to hide it.

She glanced up at the overcast sky, but quickly lowered her face to keep the rain out of her eyes. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Desperately."

She looked around and saw no prying eyes. "Well, then. Come on."

Feeling awkward and oddly courageous, she stood and tugged his arm until he joined her. He was wiry underneath the thin shirt, and the rain emphasized just how slim he really was. He didn't seem to be the powerful Goblin King anymore. Just a cold, hungry man with nowhere to go.

He resisted, but only a little. "Why would you help me?"

Sarah gestured at the empty park around them. "Who else is going to?" she asked.

Jareth nodded, conceding her point, then walked to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. Sarah walked around the car and slid behind the wheel, then turned the heat up as high as it would go before pulling back onto the road. She watched as he held his hands into the warm stream of air coming out of the vents.

It was a short drive to her house, and she almost felt badly that he didn't have longer to warm up.

"C'mon," she said. "You can help me carry groceries."

He looked almost put out by the suggestion that he help, but he stepped out of the car and waited as Sarah put two bags in his arms, then took another for herself, plus the jug of milk, then closed the trunk of the car and walked to her front door.

"If your driveway was on the other side of the house, you wouldn't have to walk so far to your door."

"I didn't design the house, Jareth," Sarah said airily. "And, actually, I think the garage and driveway were added on after it was built. Not quite enough room on the other side." She motioned with her elbow to her nearest neighbor, then fumbled with her key and opened the front door.

"You should park in the garage, then. Keep out of the rain."

"Can't," Sarah said as she stepped inside. "Door's broken."

Jareth stopped just inside the door.

Sarah set her bags on the floor of the kitchen since there was no room for them on the counter, then began rooting through them, removing contents, and putting them into the cupboard or the refrigerator. She straightened when she noticed Jareth was still standing in the doorway, then looked around trying to see her home the way he was probably seeing it.

The kitchen was filthy, dirty dishes stacked in the sink and on the countertop. The pan in which she'd cooked last night's dinner was still on the stove top. In fact, all of her pans were on the stove top, each one encrusted with some old foodstuff from previous meals. The living room was strewn with clothes, shoes, and blankets. Cups and glasses filled with various levels of coffee, tea, and water sat on her end tables. Her mail was spread across the console table just inside the door, and all of it was covered in a fine layer of dust.

"I wasn't expecting company," she said, embarrassed.

"Clearly."

"Get off your high horse, Jareth. I've seen your house, and trust me, it's not better."

His eyes locked onto hers. "You've seen my house?"

She grimaced and made a mental note to watch her words a little more closely. "Yeah," she answered. "Thirteen years ago. I couldn't tell you where it is, so please don't ask. I didn't take us there; you did."

"What was it like, this house of mine."

"It was…," Sarah started. "Big," she finished, lamely.

He looked eager for more information.

"Stone siding," she continued. "The inside was kind of medieval, I guess."

His expression closed off a little. Getting too close to the Goblin King stuff, she figured.

"That look, it's kind of your thing. At least, it was when I first met you. From the way you're dressed, I'm guessing that hasn't changed much."

"Did you meet my family? Any of my friends?"

"Your family? I don't think so. I did try to reach out to some mutual acquaintances last night, but no one answered. I think the line has been disconnected. I don't know any of your close friends," she said. "Sorry."

"Where do these mutual acquaintances live?" he asked.

"Now? I don't know. Like I said, the line's disconnected."

"Yes, but before."

"It felt like they were really close." Her tone of her voice lifted as if she was asking a question.

"So not London."

"No," Sarah confirmed. "Definitely not London.

"Look," she said, crossing the room to take the bags out of Jareth's arms. "Why don't you go into the bathroom-" she pointed to a door just off the kitchen, "-and get cleaned up while I make us some food. There are clean towels on the shelf. You can use any of the soaps or shampoos you find."

Sarah took the bags to the kitchen and began to unload them while Jareth slowly picked his way to the bathroom, careful to avoid stepping on anything she'd left on the floor.

"You expect me to wash myself in a room in which you…?"

Sarah looked up to see Jareth pointing at the toilet.

"That's just the way American bathrooms are, Jareth. Get used to it or don't shower." She waited a moment then remembered, "Also, there's no hot water in the sink."

Sarah thought he might actually refuse to shower, but after a moment, his shoulders dropped, and she knew he'd given up.

"Sorry," she added and almost meant it. He looked broken and she wasn't sure she liked it.

He just looked at her and shut the door.

She shook her head and went back to putting the groceries away. She heard the flush of the toilet and then the sound of the bathtub faucet being turned on. The subtle shift in the sound of the water told her he'd figured out how to turn on the shower, so he was either familiar with how the shower worked, or he was naturally clever.

She shook her head. Of course he was naturally clever. During their brief exchange the night before, he'd picked up on her name, picked up on his own name, built on the backstory she'd only hinted at, and also given himself a new last name with no hesitation. He was almost scary clever.

She began to pick up some of her shoes from the living room, and then a sweatshirt and light jacket that had been tossed over the back of her chair, then realized that Jareth would have nothing to wear once he was done in the shower. If he'd tossed his wet clothing out before he'd stepped into the shower, she might have been able to put them in the dryer for him. But would he want to put them back on before they were washed? How long had he been wearing those clothes, anyway?

She thought hard, then made a decision. She walked past the bathroom and down the hallway, stopping at the last door on the left. She approached and reached for the door knob. It felt cool under her hand, but sweat had broken out between her shoulder blades. She pushed the door open a crack, but then immediately changed her mind. She couldn't do it. She reached around to the other side of the door, locked it from the inside, then closed it again. She rattled the knob, but it didn't budge. That felt better. Right.

She took the few steps across the hall to her bedroom and went inside. Surely there was something in there she could loan him.

She dug through her dresser and found an old pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt she liked to sleep in. He was slim - maybe skinnier than her. They would fit all right.

No underwear, though.

She shrugged. Needs must. She could just burn the sweatpants when he was done with them.

She went back into the living room and laid the clothing on the arm of the couch. She'd listen for the shower and knock on the door when he got out.

Now for food…

She had no idea what he liked, though, with her meager supplies, it probably didn't matter. Hopefully, they had similar tastes. She dug through her purchases and pulled out a box of chicken flavor rice pilaf. That would do.

She washed the skillet and a spatula and got to work melting the butter and browning the vermicelli. When the water was added and it was simmering on the stove top, she washed two bowls, a couple of spoons, and two glasses as well.

She listened as the shower droned on. At this rate, the food would be done and cold by the time he got out.

She turned the TV on, switching the channel to a generic sitcom. She zoned out to the sound of canned laughter until the water abruptly shut off. She heard the sound of the shower curtain being pulled back, then waited a few seconds longer before knocking.

"Jareth?" she said through the door. "I've got some clothes for you. Open the door and I'll hand them through."

The door opened wide and Sarah only registered that he was completely naked before screwing her eyes closed and holding the clothing out to him. "Put these on and come out for dinner," she said, then clarified, "In that order."

She assumed he smirked at her before closing the door, but refused to open her eyes until she heard the click of it shutting.

The timer went off in the kitchen.

The image of Jareth standing before her, steam from his shower swirling around him replayed in her head. Why had she closed her eyes? It was an opportunity she'd dreamed about since she was fifteen, and now here she was wasting it!

No, she chided herself. He's vulnerable and she couldn't take advantage of him like that. It wouldn't be right.

But would he be so virtuous if their roles were reversed.

Absolutely not, she thought.

So maybe…

No. She was better than that.

The bathroom door opened again and Sarah ventured a glance as Jareth stepped out in a swirl of steam.

He looked… normal.

She'd expected him to come out of the bathroom looking like the powerful king who'd appeared in her parents' bedroom all those years ago, but there he stood looking for all the world like a normal man. His hair still hung wet and limp against his scalp and down his back. The sweat clothes fit him well, but they lent him no sense of the sophistication or cocksure power the tight trousers and romantic shirts had given him. The lack of high-heeled boots robbed him of a couple inches of height. He was still taller than her, but only just. She could see his eyebrows, devoid of makeup and blond as the hair on his head, curved in the normal way - just like hers. He looked less angular, less feral, but she could see his features were still sharper than that of most men. His eyes, though... both pale blue, one pupil larger than the other, still spoke of wildness and magic and fantastical things. A tingle of excitement ran along her spine.

Sarah closed her mouth with a click and swallowed, then turned to the stove to dish out the rice.

"What _is_ that smell?" he asked with a sneer, and her warm feeling instantly evaporated.

Sarah sniffed the air, picking up only the scents of his shampoo and their dinner. Nothing offensive. "I don't smell anything."

He came closer, sniffing the air.

She handed him a bowl of rice and a spoon. "Just clear a spot at the table," she instructed.

He wrinkled his nose, but did as she asked, sitting at the small kitchen table and pushing aside papers and cups to clear a space for his dish. She joined him a moment later with her own bowl.

He raised a spoonful of rice to his mouth and took a tiny bite, then grimaced.

"It's nothing fancy, but it'll fill your stomach," she said, blowing on the contents of her spoon before taking her own bite.

"I can't eat this," he said and pushed the bowl away.

"Then you won't eat," Sarah replied with a shrug.

He watched her for a minute, then pulled his bowl close again and put a large spoonful of rice in his mouth.

"I'm thirsty," he said, mouth full.

Sarah pushed back from the table without a word, filled the two clean glasses with water from the tap, and brought them back to the table.

Jareth took the glass she gave him and took a small sip. He sputtered, dribbling water down his front. "What is wrong with this water?" he asked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Sarah took a sip and swished it around her mouth, tasting for anything weird. "Nothing? Tastes fine to me."

He took another sip. "Why does everything taste strange?" he asked. "The food is too strong. And the water… has a taste. That isn't right."

"Ah," said Sarah, understanding. "The rice is chicken-flavor, but doesn't actually have any chicken in it."

"Chicken _flavor_?"

"Artificial chicken flavoring, yeah. And the water is real water, but they add chemicals: chlorine to make sure it's clean and fluoride to keep your teeth strong."

"Surely that is unnecessary."

"Take a look at the Hudson, then tell me what's necessary." Sarah smirked and took another bite.

Jareth ate slowly, occasionally making disapproving noises at the flavor of both his meal and his drink.

"Is this all there is?" he asked when his dish was empty.

"The food is horrible and the portions too small?" Sarah said and chuckled. "Yeah, there's a little more. It's on the stove."

He didn't move, merely looking at her expectantly.

"If you want it, you need to go and get it."

He scowled, then rose from his chair, crossing to the stove, then emptying the remaining rice pilaf from the skillet into his bowl.

"This all seems wrong," he said.

"Not used to doing anything for yourself, probably," Sarah said with no small amount of snark.

"A better life, most likely."

"And one you seem unlikely to reclaim any time soon." Rationally, she knew she shouldn't feel insulted, but her rational mind seemed to work more slowly than the one that wanted to retaliate whenever he said something hurtful.

Jareth looked at her as she put the last spoonful of rice into her mouth.

"There's only one bed," she said and rose from the table, leaving her dishes where they sat.

He watched her as she walked down the long hallway to a pair of doors on the right-hand side. She slid them open and pulled out a blanket and pillow, then brought them back into the living room.

"You'll be sleeping on the couch." She laid the blanket and pillow on the arm of the couch.

"I'll be down there," she said, pointing down the hallway. "Second door on the right. Don't wake me."

Sarah closed the door behind her, then leaned back against it and sighed. Jareth the Goblin King was in her house. She'd invited the Goblin King into her house. It had to be the dumbest thing she'd ever done.

Second dumbest. Some things were hard to top, she thought, then banished it from her mind.

She crossed to her mirror.

"Hoggle, I need you," she tried. "Ludo? Sir Didymus? Anyone?"

Still nothing. This couldn't be good.

She sat down on her bed and looked at the clock. It was still early. She weighed the idea of staying in her room all night against spending more time with Jareth. She sighed, grabbed a paperback from her nightstand, and tried to read.

* * *

Jareth watched Sarah's door close and heard the turn of the lock.

Smart, he thought, but strange to allow a man she didn't really know stay in her home with her.

He rose from the table, leaving his dishes just as Sarah had done. He looked around at the small kitchen that opened directly into the lounge. Exploration would kill a little time. Very little. The house was tiny. Even so, it had more furniture than a single person really needed. It looked furnished for at least two, perhaps even a small family.

Four chairs sat around the kitchen table. The chair and couch in the living room coordinated with each other and the coffee and side tables looked relatively new. Beneath the papers and dust, several knick knacks were displayed on the console table by the front door. He ran his fingers over the decorations: a set of three candles, a small model of the Eiffel Tower, and a snow globe. He bent to look more closely at the last, then picked it up. It contained a little cottage surrounded by evergreens. LIttle flecks of glitter and plastic "snow," began to swirl around when he disturbed the water. He felt compelled to roll it over his hands. He tossed the snowglobe gently into the air, but the base proved too heavy and it came down more quickly than he was expecting. He fumbled, nearly dropping it to the floor. The inside was now a veritable blizzard. He set it back on the console table, trying to match its footprint in the dust.

A framed poster of a black cat caught his attention. _Tournée du Chat Noir./_ Huh. He could read French. There were also a few photographs displayed around the poster. He recognized Sarah in most of them, sometimes alone, sometimes huddled close to another woman who looked to be about the same age. There were also photographs that contained other people: a blonde woman and a man who had obviously once had dark hair, but was now graying, and also a small blonde child. A boy.

Mother, father, brother, his mind supplied, though the people in the pictures bore little resemblance to Sarah. He looked more closely at the child. She'd mentioned a brother. Toby. The boy looked very much like the blonde woman. Stepmother, then?

He stepped back and thought how odd the photographs looked. Off-balance. He looked closer and saw nails where other photographs must have hung until recently. Strange.

He walked to the hallway, passing the bathroom without interest. He'd already seen in there. Functional, but not extravagant by any means, and in such need of cleaning he didn't dare take a bath. Still, he'd been so relieved to be under the hot, running water that he was loath to complain about the bathroom's shortcomings. He peered down the long hallway: three doors on the right, one door on the left, and a door facing him right at the end. But the last door looked strange. He moved quietly down the hall to investigate. A line of silver tape ran all around the door, sealing it shut.

The broken garage door, he thought. That was why Sarah didn't park in the garage. Such a poor fix.

He turned to the lone door on his left and tried it. The doorknob rattled, but didn't turn.

She must have hidden away her valuables behind the door while he was in the shower. Or at least something she didn't want him to see. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the door, ideas forming in his head.

He walked back down the hallway, trying to force himself to find anything familiar. He passed the closet from which Sarah had pulled out the pillow and blanket, and also the bedroom in which Sarah was currently locked. He tried the last door - the one closest to the living room - and found a small closet with some kind of mechanical contraption within. He took a closer look and realized it was a laundry machine, the bottom a basin for washing and the top a machine for drying.

He looked around the living room. The television was still showing some ridiculous teleplay featuring a man and a woman the audience was expected to believe were married - the woman lithe and brunette, the man overweight and balding. Jareth scoffed and watched the wife simply shake her head in amused disbelief when the husband tried to justify some ridiculous action that destroyed their home. Why didn't she just leave him? The story asked too much of the imagination. He found the power button, and turned off the set. The silence was a blessed relief.

Tucked away in the corner near the armchair was a stereo he hadn't noticed earlier. He sat down before it and opened the cabinet to find several cassettes and CDs stored inside. He paused for a moment and then figured that if Sarah didn't want him getting into it, she would have locked it into the room down the hall. He began filing through the albums, but none of the people or names looked familiar to him.

He opened a cassette and popped it into the deck. He turned it on and immediately turned the volume all the way down, then pressed play and adjusted the volume until it was just audible. The music started, and Jareth smiled.

* * *

Acton kicked the door in frustration. He'd been in this ridiculous castle for an entire day and had only just found the King's bedchamber - and it was sealed.

He heard skittering behind him and his skin crawled. He spun around to attempt a kick at whatever creature had sneaked up on him - they seemed to like that - but he only caught a glimpse of a squat little body running around a bend in the corridor. It left a long shadow - longer than Acton thought was possible - on the floor as it retreated.

On some level, he understood why the chamber would be sealed. Jareth may have been a hobgoblin, but even he would need respite from his subjects. They seemed to break, splinter, rupture, spoil, and just generally wreck everything in their path.

Acton continued down the hall, testing doors until one finally opened. He peeked inside and grimaced.

It was a bedchamber - or had been at one time. The ancient furniture had turned a hideous gray color and the fabric coverings had begun to rot away in places.

But it was peaceful, with no signs of goblin habitation. No creaking wood, creepy sounds, or foul odors to indicate any of his subjects had been in this room for years and years.

Acton entered, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

Peace at last.

He set the sceptre on the table near the bed, and sat on the moldering mattress.

It collapsed.

Acton put his hands over his face and sighed, then decided a mattress on the floor would do well enough for now. The day had been long, and he was exhausted. He closed his eyes, resigning himself to basically sleeping on the floor.

He'd need staff. People to whip the castle into shape. But who would be willing to move to the Goblin City?

For the first time he thought he understood why the Goblin Kingdom had never thrown balls or parties. Jareth didn't seem to have any real help. Since Acton had come of age, he'd had attended gala after gala at every kingdom in the Underground - except the Labyrinth - but he'd never seen Jareth or his people at any of them. Acton wondered if they'd ever even been invited. Not the goblins, of course, but the hobgoblins? Even as a show of support or solidarity? He knew they weren't the brightest creatures, but they still served an important function Underground. As he drifted off to sleep, Acton wondered if Jareth had been lonely.

He was unconscious when a little green hand reached out from the shadows, and snatched the sceptre.


	4. All Work and No Play

Sarah woke with a start, shocked to see sunlight peeking through her curtains. She sat up and groaned when she saw she'd slept in the clothes she'd worn the day before. How she'd managed to fall asleep at all was beyond her, but fully clothed? She rubbed the sore spot where her jeans cut into her belly.

She dug in her sheets until she found her paperback and tried to smooth the pages she'd crumpled in her sleep. She hadn't made it very far into the story, but then, she never did these days. She tossed the book onto her nightstand and got out of bed, throwing a glance at her mirror.

Still nothing.

A quick look in her dresser confirmed that she needed to do laundry. She was down to her last couple pairs of underwear - the emergency ones she hated to wear, but couldn't bear to throw out just in case she needed them. She found a pair of leggings in her dirty laundry that could go another day before a wash, and an old t-shirt she'd set aside for painting if she ever got around to it.

She looked in the mirror again, this time to make sure she looked decent. She didn't. And a quick brush through her hair improved matters only a little. Her shoulders slumped. Resigned, she figured she didn't need to look good to go survey the damage she was sure Jareth wrought overnight on her little house.

When she reached the living room, she saw Jareth lounging on the floor, long legs stretched out in front of him, his head nearly resting against the speaker of her stereo system.

"Jareth?"

He started, then met her eyes. "Sarah…"

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He gestured to the cassettes and CDs that lay strewn about him, some of the cases open and the liner notes spread in front of him. "What does it look like?"

"You listened to music all night?"

"It's strange," he said, ignoring the question. "I can name every item in your house - the chair, the refrigerator, the plumbing. Everything. I understand the French on your poster. But I have never heard this music. Don't you think that's odd?"

She shrugged. "I really can't speak to your experiences before yesterday."

"But what decides that I remember how to work everyday items, but I can't remember people, places, or music?"

"I don't know, Jareth."

"Look," he said and handed her a CD jewel case.

Sarah took it, looked at the artist on the cover, and looked back at Jareth, puzzled.

"He looks like me. Do you think…?"

He looked so sincere and so hopeful that Sarah dared not laugh. "No," she said, trying to sound regretful. "I'm sorry, Jareth, but I don't see it. And even if I didn't know for a fact that you're not him, David Bowie is a huge star. If he went missing, someone would notice - not least of all his wife."

He looked thoughtful. "Do you think someone is looking for me?" he asked.

She thought of the creatures that might be doing just that, and suppressed a shudder. Instead she answered, "I don't know, but my guess is that anyone who was actively searching for you could probably find you pretty easily. You have a tendency to stand out."

He preened, and for just a moment, he looked like the Goblin King again. "I sussed that about myself."

Sarah set the jewel case aside and looked through the stack of CDs that had been laying beside him. Crowded House. Tears for Fears. Depeche Mode.

"Those were good," he said. "I enjoyed them very much."

"Yeah, they were pretty popular a few years ago." She set the CDs aside. "Do you want breakfast?"

"I've already eaten."

"Really?" she asked, shocked.

"I made toast."

"You know how to work the toaster?" she asked, incredulous.

"I've got amnesia, Sarah. I'm not an idiot."

"Ok…" she said, under her breath. She moved to the kitchen to make some toast for herself.

"And since you're up," he said, turning up the volume of the stereo.

Sarah smiled to herself. It was actually kind of thoughtful, the way he'd kept the volume down while she'd been asleep. She popped some bread into the toaster, and pushed the lever.

"So… what are you going to do?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Your plans? Getting your memory back? Or at least getting a place of your own."

He looked around her little house, and Sarah thought how strange it was to see him looking so vulnerable. So lost.

"You haven't really thought about anything past last night, have you?"

"No," he said as if the future hadn't occurred to him. "I could stay here. Maybe."

She bit back an incredulous laugh. "That's… really not a good idea."

"Why?"

"I just don't feel good about it."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't."

"Yes, but why?"

"Good lord, Jareth! I don't owe you an answer! I don't owe you _anything!_ I invited you out of the rain. I fed you. I put a roof over your head for the night, but I can't afford to keep doing that!"

"So money is the issue."

"One of many."

"Such as?"

"I don't have the space."

Jareth looked down the hall. "What about the other room?"

"That's not a bedroom."

"What is it?"

"Storage."

"We could move the storage to the garage."

"Can't. The door's broken."

"I could fix it."

Sarah snapped. "Just leave it alone, Jareth!" she shouted.

Bread sprang from the toaster as it popped and sparks began to shoot from the machine. Sarah shouted and reached over to unplug the appliance from the outlet.

"What did you…?" she said angrily as she turned on Jareth, but the accusation died in her throat when she saw him already rushing over, undisguised concern written across his features. He took her hands in his, inspecting the palms and then the backs, ensuring she wasn't burned.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"I think so." She looked up at him. She'd been this close to him only once before and the difference between then and now was striking. Her kitchen was no crystal ballroom. Gone were the wild hair and jeweled clothing. His hair was flat, falling into a sort of strange mullet, the ends taking on a slight wave. His makeup was gone, making him look… entirely human. She studied him, her own expression unguarded, trying to decide if he was actually even more beautiful without the markings that had made him seem so otherworldly. She half expected to feel that same frisson of excitement she'd felt the day before, but instead, a low, warm feeling suffused her body.

The song Jareth had been playing faded away and the tape deck clicked off.

The silence was deafening.

"Thirty days," she relented, "But then I need you out."

* * *

Jareth breathed a sigh of relief when Sarah went to bed that evening. She had quickly lost patience with listening to music and insisted they turn off the stereo and turn on the TV. She seemed hesitant to leave him alone in her house, and so they spent the day watching programs in which Jareth had no interest. She sat on the couch staring at the screen for hours, rising only to make simple meals at midday and again in the evening. He had enjoyed the grilled cheese lunch and spaghetti supper far more than the odd-tasting rice dish she'd served the night before, and had told her so. She hadn't appreciated the compliment.

He suggested other activities a few times - card games or board games, anything to break the monotony - but Sarah would have none of it. She'd called him a cheater, and he supposed that was the reason she refused to play now, but he wasn't entirely sure he believed that he'd cheated her of anything. After all, there was no joy in a dishonest victory, and if a game brought no joy, what was the point?

When she seemed too enthralled in her program to notice him, he studied her. She hadn't taken any particular care in her appearance, but there was no question that she was a beautiful woman. He suspected that if she actually tried, she'd be a stunner, and he couldn't quite figure out why she chose to stay inside rather than going out to meet friends or family… perhaps even a lover.

Surely she had one, a woman at her age who looked the way she looked. She might have several, in fact. His underworked imagination took it from there, entertaining him far more effectively than the silly shows Sarah insisted on watching.

And now she had locked herself away again behind her bedroom door, making it clear that she had no intention of letting him play out any of the fantasies he'd imagined all day long. There was a skittishness to her that he hadn't quite figured out, as if she expected him to turn on her at any moment. Perhaps it wasn't too hard to understand. She'd been clear she didn't know him well. How could she know how he'd behave in any given situation?

But that look she'd given him when the toaster had malfunctioned had nearly sent him into a tailspin. He'd thought for a second she might kiss him, and he would have welcomed it.

Now, _that_ would make a good TV show.

But she hadn't. Her expression had closed off and she'd given him only 30 days to get his shit together and get out of her house.

She intrigued him, he realized, at least as much as the mystery of his own identity. And though he had no idea yet how to figure out who he was, he was surrounded by the things that made her _her._

He walked the length of the house a few times, but quickly grew tired of the pictures on the wall.

The cabinets in the kitchen were mostly empty - the dishes on the counters and table accounting for that - but there wasn't much food, either. He'd helped her carry in the groceries, and so knew that this was her idea of a fully stocked kitchen.

Not much money. But then, she'd already admitted that.

The general mess of the house indicated she also didn't have much company. Although, if she only sat around watching TV all day, he supposed he couldn't blame people for not wanting to visit.

He didn't find anything particularly unusual in the bathroom, not even when he dug deep into the cabinets. Aspirin, toothpaste, a dusty box of cold medicine. He read the labels on the hair products and fiddled with the styling tools wondering if they would be much use on his own hair. Her makeup was rather drab, lacking any kind of sheen or sparkle. He dipped his finger into the eyeshadows and drew lines on his forearms. Tans and browns, he saw. Nothing interesting. Under the sink, he found toilet tissue, cleaning products, and a box of tampons, but nothing that drew his interest. And, sadly, no spare toothbrush, either. He eyed Sarah's jealously, running his tongue over his teeth and grimacing at the feel.

At first glance, the closet in the hallway didn't seem promising. He pushed aside the light jackets and winter coat to find a Hoover and a small tool box. He began to close the doors when something far in the back caught his eye. He moved the vacuum cleaner and found an electronic keyboard.

She was musical. The thought pleased him.

He lifted it from the floor as if it was the Holy Grail and carried it into the living room. Sitting on the couch, he pressed a few of the keys and his fingers moved as if they knew where to go. But no sound came from the machine.

He fiddled a bit longer, pressing buttons and toggling the "on" switch, but had no luck. Sighing, he set the keyboard aside and went back to the stereo.

* * *

Sarah shut off her alarm clock with a groan, then looked at the time just to verify that she actually had to get out of bed.

Monday morning. Time to get back to work. And Jareth was still in her living room.

She kicked her covers off in frustration. A whole month with Jareth in her house. What in the world had she been thinking? She didn't have enough problems without a magical amnesiac invading her personal space?

Throwing on her bathrobe, Sarah slipped out of her room to take a shower.

She peeked into the living room and found Jareth exactly where she'd found him the day before, directly in front of the stereo, listening to her albums. Well, at least they kept him busy. Who knew what fresh hell she'd have to face if he got bored.

She ran through her morning ablutions, taking extra time to wash and condition her hair.

When she stepped out of the shower, she noticed Jareth's clothing still piled in the corner near the door. She wrapped her hair in a towel, tied the sash of her robe, then picked up Jareth's clothes and opened the door.

"Hey, Jareth…"

"Hmm?" he hummed, not bothering to look at her.

"I'm going to throw these in the wash, ok?"

This time, he did turn to look.

"Any special instructions?" She began to shake them out, looking for a tag. No luck.

He just looked at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

"We'll just do our best, then, I guess," she muttered.

She opened the little closet and threw his clothes into the washer. This seemed to pique Jareth's interest, and he rose to watch over her shoulder as she added soap, set the cycle, then pushed the start button.

"When this buzzes, just put your clothes in the top part and press start." She set it to low heat just in case.

He nodded.

"I need to go out," she said. "Will you be ok here by yourself?"

He looked at her incredulously. "I think I'll be fine."

"Ok," she said, unsure, then went back to her room to finish preparing for her day, blowing her hair out and applying subtle, professional makeup.

When she emerged, dried and dressed for the day, she noticed the keyboard on the couch. "Where'd you find that?" she asked.

When he looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open a little. Sarah thought for a moment, he might stammer some nonsense, but instead he simply answered, "In the closet. How long have you played?"

"I don't," she said.

"Then why…?"

"Someone left it here," she said, cutting him off. She sat on the couch and pushed a few of the keys.

"It's broken," Jareth said.

Sarah continued to fiddle with it, toggling the power switch, and he turned back to the stereo, annoyed. Why couldn't she just take his word for it?

The lights flickered.

"This house is falling apart," Sarah said absently. "Hold on a sec."

She left the room for a moment, and returned holding six D-cell batteries. "I'm not sure if I still have the AC adapter, but these'll last for a little while at least." She popped the batteries into the back of the keyboard and replaced the cover. "There," she said, handing it over. "Give that a try."

Jareth laid the keyboard across his lap, then ran his hands up and down the scales. Sarah watched his expression change to one of surprise, then sat back to listen as his right hand began to pick out a melody. It was a sad, slow tune and quickly joined by a harmony played by Jareth's left hand.

"I know how to play," he said, amused.

"I'm not surprised."

"No?"

"You seemed like a musician of some kind. Back when we first met. I wouldn't be surprised if you could play more than the piano."

"How do we test that theory?" he asked.

Sarah shrugged. "No idea. But I've got to go."

Jareth stood, pushing the keyboard aside. "Perhaps I should go, too."

"Not like that. Not with me. And not today."

He looked down at his sweatpants, t-shirt, and bare feet.

"I don't care if you go out," she amended. "I'm not your mother. But you might want to wait until your clothes are dry. And don't forget to lock the door, please. Despite all appearances, I don't want just anyone coming in. I can let you back in when I get home."

"But what should I do while you're gone? Your entertainment options are limited."

"That sounds like a whole lot of not my problem," she said, then hesitated, looking around her house. "Actually…" she started, but didn't elaborate, though Jareth got the sense that she thought his boredom might become her problem. She went to the stereo and dug around a little before pulling out an album. "Did you listen to this yet?"

"No," he replied. "They misspelled 'beetles.'"

"It's a pun."

"The lowest form of humor."

"Play it," she insisted. "It'll blow your mind."

* * *

Sarah's feet hurt. And she was hungry. And both discomforts were lending to her already significant frustration.

She looked at the clock on her dash. Half past one. Four hours of rejection was a decent amount. She had a fleeting fantasy of going home, changing into sweats, and watching TV for the rest of the day, but then remembered that Jareth was there. Her heart sank. She thought for a moment, then made a decision.

The drive to her parents' house was a short one and Karen was already opening the door before Sarah got out of her car. She ran down the steps to greet her with a big hug, then put her arm around Sarah while they walked up the stairs and into the house. Sarah's mood lifted the instant she crossed the threshold. She inhaled and smiled.

"Pot roast?" she asked.

"Every Monday," Karen replied. "How's the job hunt?" she asked as she led Sarah into the kitchen and motioned for her to sit.

"Brutal."

"You just gotta get out there and put in applications everywhere. Someone will bite."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "That might have worked at one time, but it doesn't seem to work now. At least, not for me."

"I don't see why not. A bright, beautiful girl like you with a four-year college degree? You're bound to be snapped up soon."

"Yeah, well, it turns out a four-year degree in English doesn't get you far in the business world. Who knew?" Sarah smirked. "Anyway, I don't think it's my qualifications that are the problem."

"You don't think they're still going on about all that, do you?" Karen asked, pouring coffee into two cups. "Milk?"

"Yes, please," Sarah replied as Karen poured the milk, then she shrugged and continued, "Small town gossip. What can you do?"

Karen set a cup of coffee in front of Sarah, then took a seat for herself. "Just wait it out, I suppose. I tell you what, though, _nobody_ has asked me about it. Not once."

"And piss off the landlord's wife? Not likely."

Karen gave her a warning look for the curse word. Sarah smiled sheepishly.

"And anyway, they're probably afraid the truth won't be as interesting as the gossip."

"There has to be a way to tell people…"

"I could take out an ad in the paper," Sarah suggested. "Rent a billboard?"

Karen smirked.

"Susan said that Sadie had her baby."

Sarah swallowed her sip of coffee. "She did! I went to visit her in the hospital on Friday and she is just the most perfect little thing."

"You're getting out more. That's what I like to hear. I've been worried about you being cooped up in that shack for so long."

Sarah sighed. "It would be worth some money if it weren't falling apart."

"I hate to keep bringing this up, but you know your dad would be willing to buy it off you…"

"I'm not ready for that yet."

The two women sipped their drinks in silence for a moment.

"You know, Sarah… Sadie is well-respected around town. Maybe she…"

"Sadie has more important things to worry about than her friend's relationship problems."

Karen side-eyed Sarah. "I would hardly call this a _relationship_ problem."

"Whatever. She's got a brand new baby and a husband who works in the city. Let's just leave her out of this."

"It's your life," Karen shrugged, taking a sip as if letting go of the argument was no big deal. It was, though. A very big deal. And Sarah recognized the effort.

"You're getting so skinny," Karen said, changing the subject. "Let me make you something." She put her cup down and rose to dig through the pantry.

Sarah smiled. Good, old, reliable Karen.

"How's the book coming?" she asked.

"Still stalled."

"Writer's block?"

"Yeah… I feel like I know how I want the story to go, but when I sit down to write, I just end up staring at a blank page. Nothing flows. Not like it used to."

"It's just a matter of sitting down and writing a little every day. That's all," Karen said.

"Yeah," Sarah agreed, congratulating herself on not rolling her eyes. It was her turn to let it go. "That's all."

The two chatted while Sarah ate and had a second cup of coffee, but when the clock struck three, Sarah rose to leave. "Toby will be home soon," she said.

"Oh, stay, Sarah. He'd love to see you."

Sarah gave her a tight smile. "I'm going to get out of your hair. Less stress for everyone."

Karen grimaced. "I'm sorry, Sarah. Don't let it bother you too much. He's just a teenager."

"No, no. Believe me, I get it."

"Before you go," Karen said, reaching for her pocketbook.

"Don't you dare," Sarah warned.

Karen dug around for a second, then pulled out a small stack of bills. She looked Sarah in the eye and said, "How long has it been, Sarah? Six months? And you were laid off just two weeks later?"

Sarah snorted. "'_Laid off.'"_

"The point is, you have no income. I can do math; I know what it costs to live. I'd be willing to bet your savings are just about gone."

Sarah frowned. "Please, no."

Karen reached out and placed the bills in Sarah's hand. "Please take it, Sarah. I can't bear to watch you torture yourself anymore. Take it and get something nice for yourself. A good meal. A new dress. _Something._ If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me."

Sarah reluctantly closed her hand over the bills, and Karen smiled.

"Thank you," Sarah said quietly and sincerely. "Before I go, do you mind if I run upstairs? I need to grab something from my old room."

"No need to ask," Karen said, gesturing toward the stairs as Sarah turned and followed them up, refraining from taking them two-by-two like she would have done when she was fifteen.

Sarah paused just inside the door of her old room. It had changed quite a bit since she'd last seen Jareth. Most of her costumes, toys, and books had been packed up and donated years earlier, but it still looked like it did when she'd moved out of the house - everything just the way she'd left it, including the photograph on the nightstand of herself and Jason at Homecoming. Two bright smiles. She turned away from the photo and sat in front of the mirror.

"Hoggle, I need you." She looked hard into the mirror, then, finding nothing, peeked over her shoulder. "Where are you guys?" she whispered.

* * *

Sarah could hear the electronic piano music even before she opened the front door, but if the keyboard had sounded anything like a real piano, she might have mistaken it for the stereo.

"Have you been playing with that all day?" she asked, setting her shopping bags on the couch.

Jareth beamed at her, then began playing a new song - one from the album she recommended that morning. When he began to sing, Sarah couldn't help but stop and just listen.

"Wow…" she said as the last notes faded. "That was… genuinely impressive..."

He winked, then segued into another song he'd heard in her collection, but when he didn't start singing, Sarah realized he was no longer playing for her, but for himself.

"I got you a few things," she said and began to root through the bags she'd brought in.

He stopped playing and set aside the keyboard. "Oh?"

"I stopped at the thrift store and got you some clothes. You can't go out in that," she gestured to his sweats and t-shirt, "and you might attract unwanted attention in the clothes you showed up in." She pulled out a pair of jeans, a couple t-shirts, a button-down fleece shirt, a sweater, and a light jacket. "We'll need to wash them before you can wear them, just to be on the safe side.

"Your boots are fine for now. And probably nicer than what I can buy."

She opened another bag. "I don't know if you actually wear this kind of stuff, but I figured if you're going to wear jeans, you'll probably want them." She handed him a pack of white Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs. "They're new, in case you're concerned, but we'll wash them, too. I also got you some socks.

"And last, but certainly not least…" She pulled out a toothbrush, hairbrush, comb, razor, and shaving cream.

Jareth began to look through the items she'd purchased, reading the labels and inspecting the fabrics. Sarah smiled and left him to it.

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

"No." He paused, then added, "Roast chicken with potatoes."

"What's that?"

"I'd like roast chicken with potatoes."

"Give 'em an inch, they take a mile," she muttered.

"Pardon?"

"I said, 'And I'd like a million dollars, but it ain't gonna happen,'" she said more loudly.

Sarah moved some dirty dishes out of the sink and began to wash a skillet. Not long after, the smell of fried onions and potatoes filled the little house.

"What is that?" Jareth's voice came from right next to her ear.

Sarah jumped. "Woah! Don't scare the woman with the hot pan, ok?"

Jareth stepped back, his eyes on the contents of the skillet.

"Fried potatoes. Nothing fancy, but tasty and filling. Wash a couple plates and forks?"

Jareth looked apprehensively at the sink, then turned the water on. Sarah smirked at his confused expression, then grabbed the sponge and dish soap and showed him how to wash the dish. "Just do that to another one, then wash a couple of forks, too."

He slowly washed the dish, barely swiping the sponge over the crusted-on leftovers.

"You're going to have to use some elbow grease if you want it to come clean," Sarah said.

His eyebrows furrowed in either concentration or disgust - Sarah couldn't tell - but he gripped the sponge more firmly and worked at the grime.

"Have you considered washing these right after you use them?" he asked.

"What's the point?" Sarah replied. "They're just going to get dirty again anyway."

"They might be easier to clean. Save you some time the next day."

She shrugged. "I get tired after I eat."

Jareth slowly washed the forks, cleaning the tines carefully before setting them on the clean plates.

"Now what?"

"Cups, if you want water."

He nodded, and reached for a glass.

Sarah burst out laughing.

"Your face!" she said, when he looked at her in surprise. "You look like-" her voice dropped and she affected his accent, "-'what has my life become?'"

Jareth turned back to the glass in his hand.

"Oh…" Sarah said, her laughter dying. "Oh, I get it. That's probably not too far off what you were actually thinking, huh?"

"It feels strange," he replied, working up the lather in the sponge. "Like I've never done it before. What was my life before that this is so alien to me?" He looked at her imploringly.

"I don't have an answer for you, Jareth. All I can say is… sometimes, I feel the exact same way."

She took a plate, loaded it up with fried potatoes, handed it to Jareth, then dished some out for herself. He took it to the table and cleared a spot. She set her plate down, then went to the fridge and returned with a bottle of Tabasco.

She sprinkled some over her food.

Jareth looked at the bottle, then picked it up, sniffed the lid, and grimaced.

"Give it a try. You might like it."

He turned the bottle over and shook, pouring a generous portion onto the side of his plate.

"Easy there! A little bit goes a long way."

He scooped up some sauce on his fork, then gingerly put it in his mouth. The coughing started a mere second later.

Sarah nearly choked on her laughter.

"Your face just went on a journey!" she laughed as he drained his water glass.

"This isn't food!" he said, pushing the bottle away. "It's a weapon!"

"It's a _condiment_, Jareth! Not the main course. See?" She speared a potato with just a little sauce and put it in her mouth. "Spicy, vinegary, a little salty. Perfect with potatoes." She stood and went back to the fridge.

"Here," she said, setting a bottle of ketchup on the table. "This might be more your speed."

"I don't think so," he argued.

"Just try it! And this time, just a little bit. On your food, even."

Jareth shot her a distrustful look, but opened the bottle and squirted some ketchup onto his plate. He scooped a little sauce on his fork, then stabbed a chunk of potato. He hesitated a moment, then quickly put it into his mouth and chewed.

HIs eyes widened, this time with delight, and he dipped another piece of potato into the ketchup and ate with relish.

"You like sweet, not spicy. Got it," she grinned.

Sarah watched him become entirely engrossed in his food. Despite his shabby clothes and the wreck of his hair, he still had a regal air about him when he was comfortable, as if the Goblin King was right there, just under the surface.

"What are you staring at?" Jareth asked.

She looked back at her plate and blushed. "Nothing."

He rose and took his plate to the sink and rinsed it off, then left it in the basin and went back to the keyboard.

She finished her food and, leaving her plate on the table, followed Jareth into the living room.

"Do you mind if we…" she nodded toward the TV. "It's just that you've been playing with that all day and I'd like to unwind."

Jareth reluctantly set the keyboard to the side while Sarah sat on the other end of the couch and turned on the TV.

Before long, Sarah heard tapping and looked over to see Jareth drumming his long fingers against the arm of the couch.

"Jareth… Do you mind?"

"Not at all," he replied absently and kept tapping.

Sarah moved to the chair.

The cups and glasses on the coffee table began to gently clink, pulling Sarah out of her TV-induced trance. Jareth was restlessly tapping his heel against the floor, vibrating the floorboards.

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

"I'm bored," he said, and Sarah raised her eyebrows at the near whine in his voice.

"You are a grown-ass man," she chided.

Jareth huffed.

The erratic ticking was the next odd sound to get her attention.

"What…?" Sarah started to demand, then saw he was taking apart her remote control. "What do you think you're doing?" she shouted.

"How does this work?" he asked.

"I don't know! But it probably doesn't work at all anymore!" Sarah grabbed the pieces from him and began trying to fit them back together.

"That's not where that goes," he said when she tried to lay the keypad over the circuits.

She shoved the pieces back toward him and rose. "I can't deal with this. I'm going to bed. Try not to break anything else while I'm asleep."

She slammed her door, then leaned against it and took a deep breath. "He needs to get his memory back before I lose my mind," she muttered to herself, then sighed and prepared herself for bed.

* * *

Jareth put the remote control back together, then pointed it at the TV and shut it off. The lack of fake laughter was a sudden and welcome relief, but he was less happy about Sarah leaving the room. He wasn't thrilled with her habit of being still for hours on end, but it was nice to have someone around.

He eyed the keyboard, then decided against playing it. Sarah was already angry; best not push his luck.

He picked up the bag of toiletries Sarah had purchased and took them into the bathroom. He unpacked the bag, cleaned his teeth, then put his toothbrush in the cup next to Sarah's. Next, he brushed his hair, untangling it until it laid in uneven layers across his shoulders and back. Looking around, he found a hair elastic among the detritus of cosmetics hair products on the counter. When he pulled his hair back, the shorter front escaped the ponytail and fell artfully over his forehead. Not bad, he thought.

He remembered having no facial hair when he first looked at himself in Sarah's mirror, but now a prickly beard was growing in. Using the razor and shaving cream, he carefully shaved it off, grimacing at the cold water from the tap.

He studied his reflection. He knew this face. Intimately. Every fine line, every pore, every wrinkle. His uneven eyes were no surprise. He looked into them, staring deeply, hoping to find some clue as to who it was behind them.

But there was nothing.

He looked for a place to store his razor and found himself studying all of the bottles and jars on the countertop. He ran his fingers over the hairspray, moisturizer, mousse, gel, deodorant, makeup, brushes, cotton swabs, and all of the other trappings of a person who cared deeply about her appearance.

She'd shocked him when she'd appeared that morning, dressed and groomed for the day, every bit as beautiful as he thought she could be. Her makeup had been subtle, accentuating her eyes and lips and her hair had been smooth and glossy, reaching the middle of her back. He had longed in that moment to run his fingers through it.

But the film of sticky dust covering all of her products showed she rarely put in that kind of effort. In fact, her whole house showed signs of neglect.

Jareth opened the cabinet under the sink and fiddled with the shutoff valves. The faucet began to rapidly drip as he turned on the hot water. It looked simple enough to fix, and he thought he could if he fiddled with it enough. Then he thought of the remote control, sighed, shut off the hot water, then closed the cabinet. Why was she allowing these things to go unrepaired?

He looked at his toothbrush and thought of the clothes in the living room. He'd had nothing, and she'd given him shelter when he was cold, food when he was hungry, and clothing when he had none. He was deeply in her debt, but had nothing to repay her kindness.

Nothing but his time, that is.

He looked at himself in the mirror - a familiar stranger - and resolved to help her.


	5. Clearing the Clutter

"Don't you ever sleep?" Sarah asked on her way to the bathroom the next morning.

"I'm human, aren't I?"

Sarah was grateful he didn't turn away from the stereo to see the look on her face. "Have you listened to everything yet?"

"Yes. We'll need to get more."

"Why don't you try the radio first? Get your fix for free before spending money on albums."

"Too much talking. And I do not understand why they play the same songs again and again when they have so many from which to choose."

"Now you're singing the song of my people," Sarah commiserated, and closed the bathroom door. His toothbrush next to her own immediately caught her attention and she swallowed hard, pressing down the emotion, and telling herself it wasn't a big deal.

It really wasn't.

She threw her hair into a messy bun, then showered quickly, eager to be out of the bathroom.

Back in her own room, she didn't put quite the same effort as she had the day before. She was in her last, and rattiest, pair of underwear and her hair had lost the light sleekness from yesterday's washing. A light coat of mascara and a nude lipstick was all she could bring herself to do.

"Ok, I'm heading out," she said, picking up her keys and heading to the front door.

Jareth quickly stood to face her. "Again?"

"You can pretty much count on this being a daily occurrence."

"What am I to do while you're gone?"

"Same thing you did yesterday?" Sarah offered, shrugging on a jacket. "Or, I don't know… you could clean up a little, I guess."

"You would like me to clean your home?"

"Honestly, Jareth?" Sarah sighed, "I really don't care."

* * *

Jareth had grown to love the shower. He sang with abandon while massaging Sarah's herbal-scented shampoo into his hair. Lather, rinse, repeat, and again for good measure because you could never have too much of a good thing.

He then played with the rough gloves Sarah kept in the shower caddy, working the body wash into them, then scrubbing his skin until it was pink and glowing, then rinsing and starting again.

The moment the hot water ran out was always a terrible disappointment, but the threat of a cold-water dousing never kept him from staying in the shower as long as possible. In the confines of Sarah's tub, his troubles faded away. He knew everything he needed to know and was everything he needed to be.

But when the cold water came, as it always did, he shut it off with a shiver, then wrapped a towel around himself, and stepped out of the tub. He warily eyed the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd been wearing for days. If he had to wear the shapeless garments any longer, he'd lose his mind. More.

He opened the bathroom door and called for Sarah, just in case she'd returned while he was in the shower. No response. He grinned and dropped the towel.

First things first. He flipped on the stereo, then turned up the volume. With Sarah out of the house, he could listen at any volume he wanted, and he intended to take advantage of it.

He removed the tags from the clothing Sarah had purchased the previous day, then opened the washing machine. The smell of sour clothes hit him and he groaned, covering his nose with the back of his hand and taking a step back. He peeked into the machine and saw his clothing - the clothing he'd been found in - sitting in the bottom, still damp. He'd forgotten to move them to the dryer. Well, he couldn't be expected to remember everything. Or anything at all, really. He laughed, then looked around for someone to laugh along with him, but found no one. He shrugged, then dumped the second-hand clothes in on top of the wet clothes in the machine, added soap, then started the machine.

Back in the kitchen, he dug around under the sink and came up with his prize: a brand new trash bag. He unfurled the plastic, then began. In went the spare papers on Sarah's kitchen table, then the boxes and bags from the food she'd cooked. He danced around the house, picking up anything that didn't look like it belonged in the space, grabbing handfuls of envelopes and circulars off the console table and tossing them into the bag. When he could find no more paper laying around, he dropped the bag by the front door. He put his hands on his hips and admired his work.

Better. But still so much to be done.

He picked up Sarah's shoes and put them in the hall closet, then did the same with her jackets and sweaters, arranging them haphazardly on hangers. His own boots he put neatly by the front door. The throws that had been crumpled into the corners of the couch and chair were folded and stacked on top of the pillow and blanket Sarah had offered him on his first night in the house.

He turned to the kitchen and narrowed his eyes. With the trash out of his way, he could better see the amount of work the kitchen needed.

With a grimace, he moved the dishes in the basin around until he could put in the stopper. Then he turned on the water, added soap, and let it fill, adding the dishes from the table and the counter until they were stacked high. He reached for the sponge and dipped it into the sink and cringed at the icy cold water. The water heater hadn't yet replenished the hot water he'd used for his shower. Finding the water unfit to wash dishes, he left them in the sink to soak while he moved on to the next chore.

He stood in the doorway of the bathroom and studied the mess. Then, deciding that it was a lost cause, simply closed the door.

Tapping his finger against his chin while he considered next steps, he decided the room would look much nicer with some natural light, but then he looked down and decided he should probably clothe himself before opening the heavy curtains that covered the front window. He found the package of boxer briefs, tore it open, and pulled out a pair. Sarah had mentioned washing them, but they looked clean to him. He shrugged and tugged them on, snapping the waistband in admiration. They fit like a glove. Sarah must've been sizing him up. The thought pleased him. He went to the window and opened the curtains, then stood, hands on hips, looking out and enjoying the autumn sunlight.

An elderly couple out for a stroll passed in front of the house. The wife glanced at the window, then did a double-take, her mouth falling open as she and her husband passed. Jareth lifted his chin and met her gaze, his face imperious, until they had passed, then turned to study the work he had remaining.

The house was beginning to feel familiar to him. Almost homey. He could imagine belonging here and felt warm just thinking about it. The bright light filtering through the window highlighted just how dirty the living room carpet was, and he realized he knew how to fix that, and even better, he _wanted_ to fix it. He wanted to improve it and make it cozy and comfortable. Not just for himself, but also for her.

He walked down the hall to collect the Hoover from the hall closet, but he slowed and stopped in front of the locked door. The warm feeling evaporated as he considered what might be hidden away behind the door - things that Sarah did not want to share with him.

The door reminded him he was a guest. Worse, he was a burden. This was not his home and he was not entirely welcome. He turned away from the locked door, retrieved the Hoover and got back to work repaying his debt.

* * *

Sarah juggled several library books in her arms as she turned her key in the lock of her front door, the music blaring from inside the house already fraying her nerves. Hopefully, the neighbors hadn't complained. The last thing either she or Jareth needed was a visit from Mcgillicuddy. As she pushed the front door open, a large trash bag filled with paper toppled over, spilling its contents onto the floor.

She paused in the doorway to take in the scene. The curtains were open, making the room far brighter than usual, even in the fading October light. In that light, she could see that all of her mail was gone. Her unpaid bills, correspondence, coupons, and circulars were missing from the console table. The knick knacks were still there and still covered in an ever-thickening layer of dust, but they'd been straightened and spaced evenly across the table instead of arranged in attractive groupings. The kitchen table and counters had also been cleared, the dishes now stacked precariously in the sink where they soaked in cold, greasy water. And in the middle of everything, Jareth sat, her entrance distracting him from the sock he was busy pulling out of the vacuum cleaner.

He stared at her.

She blinked.

He leaned over and cut the music.

"Jareth?"

"Yes?"

"Are you sitting on my living room floor wearing only your underwear?"

"Yes."

Her brain tried to work, and failed. She could feel her face contort in confusion.

"Jareth?"

"Yes."

"_Why_ are you sitting on my living room floor wearing only your underwear?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't want the Hoover on the couch."

A true answer, though maybe not the one she was looking for. She decided to change tactics.

"What happened to the clothes I bought you?"

"They're in the washer."

"And your other clothes?"

"Also in the washer."

"I see."

A more pressing question occurred to her.

"Jareth?"

"Yes?"

"What's wrong with my vacuum?"

"Well, it's not a very good one, is it?"

"How do you figure?"

"If just sucks up anything it gets close to, doesn't it? It will suck up a sock even though it shouldn't."

Sarah slid on a couple of envelopes as she dropped her library books on the couch. Well, at least she knew where her mail was.

She wrinkled her nose at the dishes in the sink, dreading the thought of sticking her hand into the greasy water to drain the basin. And the dishes would definitely need washed now or they'd start to stink.

"Wait… where are all of my shoes?" she asked.

"In the closet down the hall."

Sarah ventured down the hall, fearing for a moment that she'd find the last door on the left open. She breathed a sigh of relief to find it closed. Turning to the hall closet, she pulled the doors open and found all of her coats and sweaters shoved through the middle of the hangers rather than hanging properly. Her shoes were tossed into a pile on the floor, pushed to one side to make room for the vacuum.

She closed the doors and returned to the living room in a daze. Jareth, King of the Goblins, had cleaned her house. Kind of.

When she returned to the living room, she found him flipping through the books she'd brought home.

"What are these?" he asked.

"I thought you might like some reading material."

His eyes narrowed. "Mm, yes. And why these, exactly?" He spread out the books, each one a different compilation of fairy tales.

Sarah sat on the other side of the couch and looked him in the eye. "I'm trying to help."

"Why fairy tales, Sarah?"

"Because you need to remember who you are."

"And why would fairy tales help me with that?" he said, his voice becoming harder as he spoke.

"Because…"

A warning sparked in his eyes.

"Because you are the Goblin K…"

"Enough." He leaned over the books and jabbed them with his index finger. "Fairy stories are not real, Sarah. _They are not real._"

"I know it sounds crazy, but…"

"We've had this conversation already and I will not rehash it." He stood and began to pace. "If I cheated during a game thirteen years ago, you should have let it go by now. Honestly, Sarah, who holds that kind of a grudge? Or is something bigger going on here?"

Sarah blinked, unable to answer.

He noticed her hesitation. "Is there something bigger, Sarah?"

Within only a fraction of a second, dozens of responses went through her head, and she discarded each one knowing he would never believe her. "Just read them, Jareth, ok?"

"Absolutely not."

"I'm trying to help."

"Then stop being childish."

Sarah reeled. "_Childish?"_ she demanded, standing from the couch. "How dare you? How dare you come into _my_ home, eat _my_ food, wear the clothing that _I_ bought for you, and then accuse me of being childish? What gives you the right?"

"I spent the day repaying my debt to you." He gestured to the room.

"You think this makes us even? You threw away my mail! You left the dishes in the sink to rot! You broke my vacuum cleaner! This is going to take me all night to fix!"

Jareth's face was a storm cloud. "It is better than it was when I arrived. You live in filth!"

"It's better than where you come from!"

"Which is where, exactly? You keep hinting that you know, but you never say!"

"I say all the time! You are the Goblin King!"

A pop followed by a long hiss from the utility closet interrupted them. They turned to see what caused the noise and found a quickly growing stream of water pouring out from under the closet door.

"Shit…" Sarah hissed, running to the clost and pulling the door open. Cold water was spraying from the water supply line behind the machine. She pulled out the machine, soaking her left side in the process, and shut off the water at the valve.

She stared at the water soaking into her carpet, then looked up to see Jareth, standing in his underwear, staring at the same spot. The ridiculousness of the situation hit her with surprising force and a giggle escaped before she could stop it. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but Jareth turned his gaze on her.

The fucking Goblin King was in her house, standing in a puddle, in nothing but his tightie whities, glaring at her.

The giggle grew into a full-blown laugh.

"What is so funny?"

Sarah gestured around her. "This," she said, still laughing.

He looked at her, baffled.

"This… just _everything! _Look at us!" she gestured to herself and then to him.

He took her advice and looked down at himself, then at her, standing before him, her hair half soaked and her shirt partially transparent from the water. He cracked a smile, then chuckled, her laughter contagious. He looked back into the living room and kitchen and assessed his work. "I didn't do very well, did I?"

"No," she said, laughing harder. When she regained some composure, she added, "But it's not entirely your fault. This place hasn't had a good scrub for a long time." She wiped her eyes and turned back to look at the washer and dryer controls. "The cycle was already complete, so it looks like the problem was with the connection, not the machine. Which is good because I really need to use it tonight." She disconnected the hose that ran from the shut-off valve to the washer, then screwed it back on tightly. Gingerly, she turned the water back on and relaxed when nothing leaked.

"Thank the gods for easy fixes," she said and pushed the machine back into place. "Let's get some towels and clean this up." She went to the bathroom, and when she returned with towels, she found Jareth pulling his clothes from the washer, a look of dismay on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, but she could already see. The red flannel shirt had bled all over his other clothes. The dark clothing was fine, but the billowy shirt he'd arrived in as well as the white t-shirts she'd purchased for him were ruined. "Oh… Jareth. I'm so sorry…"

"For what?" he asked. "This is not your doing."

"I should have told you… or washed them myself."

He shook his head. "You've done too much for me already," he said. "I need to learn to do this myself if I am to live on my own and allow you to return to your normal life."

Sarah nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. She wasn't sure what possessed her to lay her hand over his, but the moment she did, it felt right. "But you don't have to do it alone."

* * *

Acton was in a foul mood when he finally found the throne room. Sleeping on the rotting mattress had been bad enough, but then he'd woken to find particularly stinky cheese rubbed into his hair. Worse, the sceptre his father had given him was missing. He hadn't discovered the mustache and glasses that had been drawn on his face.

The goblins were mid-celebration and a little goblin with a tuft of grayish yellow hair rising from the center of his head lounged on the throne, the sceptre of the Goblin King held loosely in his tiny fist. He looked almost too small to even lift it.

Acton marched into the room, all but ignored by the celebrating horde, stepped lightly up the steps of the dais, and reached for the sceptre.

"Whatcha think you're doing?"

The size of the goblin that stepped between Acton and the little goblin on the throne surprised him as much as the question did. He stepped back, alarm showing on his features before he remembered himself and his position.

"Stand aside," Acton ordered.

The little goblin on the throne shrieked with laughter. "You ain't the king no more!"

Nothing in Acton's sheltered life had quite prepared him for this moment. "Y-Yes, I am!" he stuttered.

"No stick. No king," the big one said.

The little one screeched with laughter.

"No stick! No king!" the other goblins began to pick up the chant. "No stick! No king!"

"You can't just steal a sceptre and be king!"

The goblins' chanting quieted and they looked questioningly at one another before turning to the goblin on the throne.

The little goblin's eyes bugged slightly as he thought hard about the problem. He fiddled with the grey glass ball on the tip of the sceptre. "The ball makes the king," he said, more to himself than the throng. "Only the king can hold the stick." His voice grew louder as he became more sure of himself. Finally, he held the sceptre in the air triumphantly. "I hold the stick and so I am the king!"

The goblins cheered while Acton sputtered in impotent outrage. He tried stepping forward toward the throne once more, but was knocked off-balance by a spinning goblin's tail. He fell to the stone floor, unheeded by the dancing, shouting goblins around him.

He needed that sceptre.

Gathering his courage, he stood and rushed the throne. The tiny goblin looked shocked and a little frightened, but the big one blocked the way once more, and Acton bounced off his belly, landing in a heap at the bottom of the steps.

The goblins laughed raucously, but as the laughter died, Acton realized they were watching their new king, waiting for his next action.

A shadow had peeled itself from the wall and approached the throne, leaning close to the tiny goblin's left side to whisper in his ear.

"Throw him in an oubliette," the little goblin said.


	6. The Problem with Clever People

AN: Contains frank discussion of the subacute postpartum period. But nothing as clinical as the phrase "subacute postpartum period."

* * *

He was asleep when Sarah found him the next morning. In a way, it was a relief to see him like this; she'd started to believe he didn't sleep at all. He hadn't unfolded the blanket she'd provided, using it under his pillow to prop up his body so he wasn't quite laying flat. The man clearly had no shame at all, she thought, as her eyes travelled to the boxer briefs she'd purchased for him. They were the only things he'd bothered to cover himself with. They were so different from the trousers he'd worn when he was Goblin King, and yet they fit him in a similar way. Now that she was older, and a little more experienced, she could imagine just what the fabric hid.

Ok, that was too much. She turned away, chiding herself for being such a creep and went to the bathroom, closing the door perhaps a bit too hard, hoping to wake him.

She brushed her teeth and got into the shower.

The hot water felt good against her skin and she began to go through her routine. She lifted her shampoo bottle and was surprised at how light it was. She wondered how much he'd been using. She rinsed, put the conditioner in her hair, then washed her skin, noticing these bottles were also terribly light. She'd forgotten how quickly a roommate could deplete your products.

The thought of Jareth in the very same shower in which she now stood invaded her mind. The idea of him washing himself with her products was surprisingly compelling. She imagined him, tall and lithe, without the briefs he was wearing on the couch. She imagined what he might look like, the picture much more explicit than when she'd been a much younger woman enjoying a similar fantasy.

She let the water sluice over herself and became lost in her thoughts. Imagining him in the shower, naked and hard as he washed himself, perhaps taking himself in one hand as he braced himself with the other, letting the water pound against his back and run down his tight bottom, creating rivulets down his legs.

Her hands moved between her own legs, and she wondered how she could be doing this with Jareth just on the other side of the door. But it had been so long since she'd had any kind of release. So long since she'd even wanted it.

She came faster than she ever had in her life and the intensity shocked her. She bit her lip to keep from shouting, and released only the smallest of groans. She hoped the sound of the shower kept it from reaching Jareth's ears.

She let the water continue to fall, letting her heartbeat slow to normal while enjoying the brief moment of peace. Then, she finished washing up, rinsed the conditioner from her hair, and stepped out of the shower. Fantasy was all well and good, but the real world awaited.

Wrapping the towel around herself, she looked critically at the room. She and Jareth had spent hours the day before finishing the cleaning that Jareth had started, but this room had gone untouched. She looked at the bottles and jars on the counter. She'd been particular about her morning regimen at one time, but it had seemed like such a hassle lately, and the dust that had built up was sticky from the humidity in the room. The shower and tub had accumulated a thick layer of soap scum and the toilet was… well, there was a reason she visited Sadie and not the other way around.

None of it had bothered her. It had all happened so gradually that she had barely even noticed. But now, with the rest of the house looking better, this room was beginning to bother her a lot. She made a mental note to make sure she tackled it later. But first, she had other obligations to attend to.

* * *

_Jareth sat in his throne, looking regally over his subjects as they bowed before him. Elegant lords and ladies dressed in elaborate, old-fashioned clothing surrounded the dais, each waiting for him to speak._

_He stood, ready to make his announcement, but a child's cry broke the silence, ringing through the hall. _

_The men and women in the hall parted, allowing him to see a small blonde child sitting on the floor at their feet, tears running over his cherry cheeks. Jareth smiled at the child indulgently. He would be one of them soon. Forever. And he would sing and laugh and relish being in his king's company, just as the others did. Only this child was special. His heir. Jareth grinned._

_A flicker of shadow caught his attention and his eyes darted to the door, the grin falling from his face. Sarah stood in the doorway, her face expressionless. She wasn't meant to be there. Couldn't be there. She defied all logic, all reason. And she would destroy him._

_His subjects scattered, screaming as they went, but Sarah was not deterred by the bedlam. She walked, slow and determined, toward Jareth._

_No. Toward the child. The heir. The key to Jareth's future. She lifted him from the floor, setting him on her hip and staring Jareth down, daring him to stop her._

_But he was paralyzed, unable to move or speak. Unable to bargain. His blood turned to ice in his veins._

_She vanished, taking the child with her, releasing Jareth from his paralysis._

_He gasped, trying to process what had just happened, trying to calm his subjects, but the room had changed. Everything was gray and worn, covered in dust and cobwebs. He grabbed one of his subjects by the shoulder and turned him to speak._

_A gray face turned on him, jaundiced eyes open wide, purple tongue lolling from an open mouth…_

Jareth woke with a start, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. Sarah's house. Sarah's living room. Sarah's couch.

The shower was running. She must have already risen.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Her stories were getting to him, invading his subconscious, but his subconscious seemed to be getting everything backward. He laughed at the idea of himself as a king sitting on his gilded throne, and how terrified he'd been when Sarah had appeared. He had been certain she was going to take everything from him, and he guessed, in his dream, she actually had.

He looked at his clothes, clean and neatly folded on the chair and wondered how his subconscious had gotten her so wrong.

* * *

He was dressed in jeans and a dark t-shirt when Sarah opened the bathroom door.

"Oh," she said in surprise. "Those look like they fit really well."

Jareth looked down and rubbed his hands on his jeans. "Bit loose," he said.

"You look good," she answered encouragingly, and allowed him to pass her to go into the bathroom.

Jareth the Goblin King using her filthy bathroom. She blushed as she walked to her room to dress.

Jareth was just finishing in the bathroom when she returned to the living room and Sarah noticed that he'd brushed his hair and pulled it back into a low ponytail. It looked a little odd, but no worse than the explosion of hair he'd worn as a style when she'd first met him.

"Going out again?" he asked.

"Actually," she began, "Since so many of your clothes got ruined yesterday, I was kind of thinking of taking you to pick out some of your own. What do you think?"

His face colored and Sarah felt a strange sensation growing in the pit of her stomach. "I cannot pay," he said.

"No, that's ok. We're just going to Village Thrift, and I can cover that."

He considered for a moment, then acquiesced.

* * *

"It smells odd," Jareth said wrinkling his nose.

"Mm," Sarah replied. "The scent of dust and a hundred different brands of laundry detergent." She walked directly to the racks of clothes and began rifling through them. "Ok, you're going to want to get a few more t-shirts, a few more button-ups, maybe another pair of jeans, slacks if you want to get fancy, definitely a winter coat…" She stopped when she realized Jareth was missing.

She furrowed her brow and began looking up and down the aisles for him, her heart beginning to beat faster. "Jareth?" she called tentatively.

No response.

Her imagination began to work. Perhaps his memory had returned and he'd simply taken off. Or maybe someone had finally come to collect him.

She turned the corner and found him studying racks of used cassettes. She released the breath she'd been holding, the tension taking a little bit longer to leave her body. "There you are!"

"They have music!" He looked at her over his shoulder, his face conveying clear and unmistakable joy. It was an expression Sarah was sure she'd never seen on his face before. It looked almost out of place.

"Yes," she replied, her tone just shy of condescending. "But we're here for clothes, not tapes."

"Let's get a few," he suggested.

"Jareth…" she said, "I really can't…" But he'd already grabbed five cassettes from the display. He dropped them in her basket, and gestured for her to lead on.

It was going to be a long shopping trip. Sarah took a deep breath, released it, and went back to the clothes. She was rifling through them when she realized he'd disappeared again. She huffed and began to look for him.

The guitar that began to play two seconds later gave her a quick clue where to find him.

She spotted him sitting in an old rocker, an acoustic guitar slung across his chest. He was plucking at the strings, tuning them up.

"Look at this," he said with a grin as she approached.

He began to play arpeggios and Sarah immediately recognized the song. It had been playing on rotation for months, and even she had been unable to avoid it.

When he began to sing, the few people that had been browsing in the store began to gather around. Sarah took a step back, putting a rack between her and the people who'd gathered, hoping to remain undetected.

She watched the expressions of the other shoppers, the way their faces lit up with delight as he sang the song, the way their heads began to bob along to the beat of the familiar music. A few even tapped their toes.

He finished the song and a woman reached into her pocket, pulled out a dollar bill and dropped it into the guitar case next to Jareth's rocking chair.

He looked at the money, then up at the woman, and Sarah saw him make the mental connection. He stood and launched into another song - this one far more upbeat. His hips swivelled as he played and sang, and the crowd laughed and began to cheer. He made bedroom eyes at a middle-aged woman wearing pajama bottoms and a quilted jacket. The woman blushed and smiled shyly. Jareth moved on, but the woman remained starstruck. She opened her purse and pulled out several coins, dropping them into the guitar case. A few other patrons began to throw money in as well.

Sarah recognized the married couple walking by as they peered into the shop, their faces lighting up as Jareth continued to play. The woman said something to the man, then he nodded and together, they entered. A man across the street watched, then came over to see what was happening.

"Hey!" The voice interrupting Jareth was harsh. "You can't do that in here!"

Sarah recognized the man. He'd been Village Thrift's sole employee since she was in high school. He was gruff, but as a general rule, he minded his own business. Sarah appreciated that about him.

Jareth stopped playing and the crowd collectively groaned in disappointment.

"Sorry everyone. We don't allow busking in the store."

The woman who'd just entered the store folded her arms defiantly. "Maybe you should. I only came in because I wanted to hear him."

"Store policy. Don't like it, take it up with the owner."

The crowd dispersed, grumbling and muttering.

Jareth stooped down and collected the money in the guitar case.

"Sarah, did you see that?"

She gave him a tight smile and nodded.

"How much for the guitar?" he asked the manager.

"Two hundred."

"Two hundred for a used guitar? That's outrageous. I'll give you seventy-five." Jareth stood tall, one fist on his hip.

"Jareth…" Sarah started. She didn't have enough money for his clothes _and_ the guitar.

"That's a 1978 Harmony," the manager argued.

"My point exactly."

"I'll tell you what. You come back and play outside the store - get people to come in - and I'll sell it to you for one hundred."

Jareth raised his chin and a slight smile crossed his face. "Deal."

He rejoined Sarah, who was still standing behind a rack. "Four dollars and sixty-five cents for two songs. I'll have that hundred in no time."

"Sure, but in the meantime, you can buy your own music." She handed him his cassettes. "We're here to buy clothes."

Slightly chastened, he began to move the hangers on the rack and his nose wrinkled in disgust.

She tapped him on the shoulder. "Your size is over there," she pointed.

He wandered to the racks Sarah had been looking through earlier and quickly looked through the garments. "None of these have any style," he complained.

"What are you looking for?"

"Clothing should feel good. It should emphasize your best assets…"

Sarah smirked.

"What?" he asked.

"Basically, what you were wearing when you were found, huh? Blousy shirt, super-tight pants?"

"Like I said, 'best assets.'"

"Well, you're not likely to find anything quite like that here. Those styles haven't been in since… the seventies, maybe? We might find a leisure suit, but I doubt you'll want to wear it."

His eyes narrowed questioningly.

"Polyester," Sarah explained.

Jareth shuddered.

"But look," Sarah began rifling through the racks again. "Cotton t-shirt, right? Light, breathable, maybe won't make your skin sing, but won't irritate it, either. You've already got jeans, but how about some chinos? Also cotton." Sarah pulled out a pair of khakis. "And then…" she moved to another rack, "Colorful button-down shirt-" She removed a kelly green button-down from the rack and put it on her arm with the other clothes. "-and… um... this vest maybe?" She studied it, turning it around to see the buckle on the back. "Yes, it's fitted at the waist and it'll give you the shape you like.

"Now - you can wear all of this together, or you can mix and match them with other items. The chinos will go with pretty much anything, and so will a white t-shirt. You can layer the vest directly over the t-shirt, and you can wear the green shirt all by itself or leave it unbuttoned over the tee. So that gives you a lot of options.

"Also, I suggest you look for tags that are either blue or green, because they're half price today. You do that and I'll look for a winter coat for you." She held out her armload of clothes to him and he took it, his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"How did you…?" he began to ask.

"Let's just say this ain't my first rodeo," she said slyly, walking away.

She returned several minutes later with a wool peacoat, but Jareth was once again nowhere near the clothing racks. She sighed and began the hunt again. "Like living with a toddler," she groused.

"What are you doing, Jareth?" she asked, exasperated, when she found him browsing the tchotchkes.

"What is the purpose of these?" he asked.

"To collect dust," Sarah answered matter-of-factly.

"I see. Yours do very well."

She blinked, then a slow smile spread across her face. "Ok, I guess I deserve that. Look, do I really need to explain decorations to you?"

"Perhaps just the kitten-shaped ones."

"Different strokes for different folks. Some people like kittens."

"And what do you like?"

She made a face. "I don't know… candles, I guess. Art, when I can afford it. Souvenirs from places I've visited."

"Is that where you got the decorations in your living room?"

"One of them," Sarah answered. "The rest I bought to go with it."

"Which one?"

"The Eiffel Tower statue. I went to Paris about two years ago."

"On your own?"

"No. My boyfriend went with me."

"Tell me about this boyfriend."

She smiled. "Nah, you don't want to hear about him. Trust me.

"Turn around," she said, cutting off further questions, and held the peacoat out for him to slip his arms into. He dropped his clothes into Sarah's basket, then did as she asked. She slid the coat up his arms and Jareth shrugged it over his shoulders. It was a perfect fit.

"How about that?" she said, pleased. It's wool and lined, so it'll keep you warm, and it has all of its buttons. That was probably really expensive when it was new. And look - blue tag! Half price!"

"Why are you doing this?" Jareth asked.

Sarah's smile faded. "Doing what?"

"Don't do that. Don't play as if you don't understand. Why are you helping me?"

She shrugged. "You got anybody else who would?"

"That's not an answer."

"You ready to go?"

"Sarah…"

She held up a hand, her face devoid of humor. "Ever heard the phrase 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth?'"

"Probably."

"Well?"

Jareth gave her an appraising look. The phrase was new to him - or, at least, he couldn't remember having heard it before - but it sounded strange coming from the woman who had so harshly critiqued his gift to her the day before. He was hesitant to point this out since his presence in her home was already a thorn in her side, and he wasn't quite ready to alienate the one person who felt any sort of responsibility for him.

"Yes, I'm ready," he answered.

* * *

"Sarah! Hi!" Sadie's greeting was enthusiastic, but the dark circles under her eyes belied her false energy.

"Sorry it took so long for me to come over," Sarah said. "Things keep popping up."

"Don't worry about it," Sadie said with a gesture for Sarah to enter. "Honestly, I don't even know what day it is."

Sarah laughed.

"Seriously. What day is it?"

"Wow, ok… it's Thursday. How are things going over here?"

"Oh, just fine. I'm getting about two hours of sleep every night, my uterus is cramping like it's never cramped before, my milk came in with a vengeance a few days ago and now I am damp _all the time_. Every single item of clothing I own has baby vomit on it. Oh, and my nipples feel like they're going to fall off. Seriously, that kid latches on, and I feel it all the way down into my toes." Sadie laughed harshly, then turned serious. "Sarah, has anyone ever told you about postpartum bleeding? Because I feel like I'm living in that scene in _The Shining_ where the elevator doors…"

Sarah held her hands up in surrender. "Ok, ok. What do you need?"

"Honestly? More than anything, I want a shower."

"No problem. You go shower and let me watch the baby."

Sadie hesitated.

"Don't worry," Sarah said, ushering Sadie into the bathroom. "I'm a great babysitter."

"Yeah, I remember. You'd do anything for your brat of a kid brother."

"Including beating up anyone who calls him a brat," Sarah said with a grin.

"Marley needs to be burped," Sadie protested.

"Which I am very good at doing."

"Seriously, though. She'll pretend she doesn't need it, but five minutes later, she'll be screaming her head off. You can't stop until she burps, no matter how long it takes."

Sarah nodded. "I know. I know. Shower time for new mommies."

Sadie reluctantly stepped into the bathroom. "If you're sure…"

"I've never been more sure. Take a shower. Take a bath even-"

"Did you not hear what I said about _The Shining?"_

"A very long shower, then. Everything is fine. The cavalry has arrived." She reached into the bathroom and swung the door closed.

She found Marley in a swing in the living room, eyes wide and curious.

"Marley, huh? I knew a dog named Marley once. I'm Sarah. We've already met once before, so let's dispense with the niceties, ok?" Sarah threw a burp cloth over her shoulder, then lifted Marley from the swing and began to pat her back, bouncing as she paced the living room floor.

She paced and paced, long enough to begin expecting the shower to turn off, but the hum continued and Sarah kept patting the baby girl's back.

"Sadie wasn't kidding about you, was she? What do you have against burping, kid? Not ladylike enough for you?"

Just then, Marley let out an enormous belch.

"That's a no on the lady stuff, then, is it? My kind of girl." Sarah laughed and wiped the spittle from the baby's chin. She patted her back for a few more minutes, just in case, then cradled the baby in her arms. She kept pacing until Marley's eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep.

Sadie returned from her shower just as Sarah was tucking the baby back into her swing.

"She's asleep…"

"Yeah," Sarah said with a smile.

"How did you do that?"

"You did the hard part already."

Sadie looked at her with a mixture of awe and wonder.

"You fed her. And, judging by the feel of her diaper, you changed her, too. All you need to do is burp her and rock her, and she'll be out like a light. And then do it all again in two hours, of course."

"Oh, is that all?"

Sarah laughed. "It's hard work. I remember doing it for Karen when Toby was new. Of course, I didn't have a very good attitude about it, but it was a good learning experience."

"It's all just so… overwhelming."

"Of course it is! It's new and it's hard, but you're doing great, Sadie. Don't beat yourself up. Plus, you have your good friend Sarah here to back you up if you need help."

"Have I mentioned how glad I am that I moved home?"

"Once or twice," Sarah grinned.

"Mrs. Beasley came by and dropped off a lasagna for dinner. The thing is massive. Want some?"

"Sure."

Sarah followed Sadie into the large kitchen at the rear of the house and sat at the breakfast bar while Sadie cut large pieces of lasagna out of the pan and put them on plates to heat in the microwave.

"I've gotta admit, I am still not used to the rumor mill. Living in the city spoiled me. Nobody ever cared what I did. Then I come back and remember how bad it is in this town. No privacy."

"Don't I know it," Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

"Mrs. Beasley was here for two hours. I think I'm caught up on every single person in town."

"Am I responsible for any new evil deeds?"

"You seem to be old news."

"Then there is a god."

Sadie snorted.

"Actually, all the hubbub seems to be about a new man in town. She saw him playing the guitar over at Village Thrift. Have you seen the guy?"

The corners of Sarah's mouth rose just a tad.

"Maybe."

"She said he was really handsome. Tall, thin, blonde. Totally your type. Well, she didn't say that last part, but I know that's what you go for."

"I really don't think…"

"Sarah," Sadie interrupted, her tone deadly serious. "She said he has a British accent. You know that's the best one."

"Pretty sure 'British' describes several accents."

"You know what I mean. So how are we going to get you two to meet? Small town like this, shouldn't be too hard." Sadie waggled her eyebrows.

"Not an issue."

"Hmm?"

"I said it's not an issue."

"Oh, come on, Sarah! You are ready to date again. You know it. I know it. The whole town knows it."

"The whole town knows nothing."

"Touché. But, you and I both know it and we're the ones who count."

Sarah laughed, then began studying the pattern in Sadie's granite countertop.

"Sarah," Sadie said, suspiciously. "Why do you look so guilty?"

Sarah blushed. "He and I have already met."

"What?!" Sadie shouted as the microwave beeped. She slapped her hand over her mouth and listened for the sounds of fussy baby. "What?" she asked again, much more quietly.

"Yeah… we met. At the hospital when I was leaving on Friday."

Sadie gasped. A little too loudly, Sarah thought.

"You heard about that, I take it."

"Mrs. Beasley didn't mention that hospital guy and thrift store guy were the same guy!"

"But she did mention me."

"Well…"

"So much for old news?"

"I didn't want to make you feel bad."

Sarah shrugged. "It's this town. I would have been shocked if you hadn't heard. And, yes, he did come home with me."

"Sarah!" Sadie said admiringly. "You dog!"

"Not like that! _Honestly…"_

"Like how, then?"

"Like he needed help. And so I helped him."

"Helped him…?" Sadie prompted.

"He needed a place to stay, so…" Sarah shrugged.

"Wait, so you just invited a strange man into your house?"

"Y'know, I find it really strange that you're so bothered by me inviting a strange man into my house, but thrilled with the idea that I invited a strange man into my vagina."

"You're so crude."

"You love it."

Sadie grinned. "I do."

Sarah chuckled, then grew serious. "Ok, so here's the thing… I kind of already knew him."

Sadie's head cocked to one side.

"I mean, I didn't know him _well_, but I'd met him before. Back when we were fifteen, right before we started hanging out. You and me, I mean. He's older than us."

"How much older?"

"Not a clue."

Sadie raised an eyebrow. "Was he part of that crowd you hung out with then?"

"'_Crowd,'"_ Sarah scoffed. "Like anyone hung out with me back then."

"What about those guys? The ones with the weird, made-up names. Lyle and Sir Diamond?"

Sarah didn't bother to correct her. "Whatever. Yeah, I met Thrift Store Guy back then. He was older. Dressed better. Hot as hell. Weird hair, though," she added as an afterthought.

"That's my Sarah. Luring in the older men."

"Ew. Don't be gross."

"So he wasn't interested?"

"I didn't say that."

Sadie put a forkful of lasagna in her mouth and grinned.

"Honestly, I don't know what he was doing. One minute he..." Sarah struggled for a term that would accurately describe Jareth, "...was the biggest asshole." Yes, that would do nicely. "The next minute he's all, 'Oh, Sarah! Let me be your slave!" She raised the pitch of her voice and batted her eyelids at Sadie in an impression that bore no resemblance at all to the Goblin King.

Sadie grimaced. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Right?! I don't even know! But I was fifteen, so it couldn't mean anything. And I mean, _couldn't_. My dad would have straight-up murdered him."

"Well, that was then. People change. What's he like now?"

Sarah chewed a bite of lasagna while she thought. "Different," she said.

"Different good?"

"Yes? Maybe? Just a little? He's still, you know, nice to look at. But he seems… lost. That doesn't stop the asshole side of him from reappearing on occasion, but those occasions are getting fewer and farther between. He even tried to do something nice."

"Tried?"

"He tried to clean my house." Sarah blushed.

Sadie snorted. "Do you blame him?"

"Hey! I've had a lot on my mind!"

"I know, I know," Sadie said apologetically. Her smile began to grow again. "How far did he get?"

"Surprisingly far, actually. Wish he hadn't - he only made more work for me."

"I don't know, Sarah… He tackled the wreck that is your home and didn't run screaming from the premises. I think this guy might have some potential."

Sarah gave her a half-hearted glare. "Let me assure you that it is _not_ like that. And it will never _be _like that. We're just…"

Sadie waited for Sarah to finish the sentence, and when no end appeared to be forthcoming, she supplied, "Friends?"

"Not even that," Sarah said, shaking her head.

"Roommates, then."

"I'm making him sleep on the couch," Sarah said, wrinkling her nose.

"_Sarah!"_

"What? I'm using both bedrooms. And it's not like he's paying rent."

"He sure seems to be trying to earn his keep."

"Sure, but he may be even worse at home improvement than Jason. He already plugged up the vacuum, short-circuited the toaster, and broke the waterline going to the washer. If he keeps this up, he won't last even half as long."

Sadie gave Sarah a hard look. "Are you sure those were all him and not just a coincidence? Because sometimes things break and it's nobody's fault."

Sarah looked back at the granite, tracing a gray vein through the milky stone with her index finger. "He _did_ jam the vacuum," she said.

"Sarah, I love you, so don't take this the wrong way, ok?" She paused. "But if you're going to help the guy, _help the guy. _Don't string him along like a dog, and for the love of Mike, let him sleep in the spare bed."

"For the love of Mike?" Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"Gotta curtail the swearing. You know. For Marley."

Sarah looked skeptical.

"Listen to me, Sarah. This could be a good thing. When was the last time someone besides me was in your house? When was the last time the place was actually cleaned?"

She had no answer.

"Just consider the possibility, ok? He's been in your house for less than a week and you've already broken bad habits you've been in for months. This could be an opportunity. It could lead you to much better places than where you've been stuck."

"No, you're right," Sarah admitted, pushing the food around her plate, her appetite gone. "I've told him I'll help him, and I will."

"Promise?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Promise."

Sadie smiled. "Good." She took a bite of her food. "Do you know you haven't even told me his name?"

"Jareth."

"Jared?"

"Jareth," Sarah over-enunciated. "With a 'th.'"

"Jareth," Sadie repeated, and made a face. "Some people will name their kids anything."

* * *

"Hey," Sarah said as she walked in the front door and tossed her mail onto the console table. She kicked off her shoes and rubbed her eyes. She'd stayed at Sadie's longer than she'd intended, and now wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and go to sleep.

"It's time you and I had a little chat, don't you think?"

Sarah paused and looked at Jareth, thoughts of tucking herself into her bed still paramount in her mind. He was still dressed in jeans, but had changed into the green button-down and the vest she'd picked out, buttoning it so it nipped in at the waist. He looked like a pale imitation of his former self. The look on his face, however, was pure Goblin King.

"What about?" she asked.

He held out a pair of jeans.

She looked. "And?"

"They were under the chair," he said.

"_And?"_

"These are not the ones that you bought for me, nor are they the ones I picked out for myself."

"Jareth, I'm tired. Get to the point, please."

"Perhaps you can tell me how a pair of trousers in my exact size were sitting under a chair in a home I have never visited before. Or how you know all of my sizes and preferences well enough to purchase clothes without my assistance. I'd also very much like to know why, when I find something that clearly doesn't belong to you, it is something that has everything to do with me."

Sarah rested her hands on the back of the couch and leaned forward. "If you have an accusation, Jareth, you'd better just say it, because I don't like what you're insinuating."

"These fit," he said and let the jeans fall to the floor. "But as far as I know, I've never seen them before in my life. The keyboard in the closet? The one that you don't play? I can. And then there is the very odd fact that you took me in in the first place. What would compel you to do that?"

"Stupidity," Sarah spat. "Apparently. If you don't like it here, you're welcome to leave."

"What was your ex-boyfriend's name, Sarah?"

"None of your business," she said stubbornly.

"Oh, I think it is very much my business. I think we're on the verge of discovering my real self."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You think you're my ex?"

"All evidence points in that direction."

"Trust me, Jareth. You're not him. Although you sound about as smart as him right now." She turned to go to her room.

"I can see the holes," Jareth said.

She paused without turning. "You can see what?"

"The holes in your life. The holes into which a man just like me would fit. The missing photographs, the locked door, and a former lover about whom you refuse to speak."

He could see her shoulders move. A single, disbelieving laugh.

"Give me his name or I will break down that door."

She spun around, all humor gone. "You wouldn't dare."

"His name," Jareth insisted.

She pursed her lips and glared.

He met her challenge and marched down the hall past her. He stood in front of the locked door and gave her a look, one last chance to come clean before he exposed her secret.

"Don't," she said.

He could see panic in her eyes, and he knew he was close. It all made sense, and she wasn't denying it any more. The answers - his life and his identity - were on the other side of the door.

"His name," he repeated.

"Jason," she whispered.

He narrowed his eyes. "Really, Sarah, is that the best you can do?" he said, and then kicked the door. The jamb broke easily and the door swung open and hit the wall hard enough to leave a dent. He flipped the lightswitch and illuminated a bedroom.

It had once been nicely decorated, but clothing and other items had been haphazardly thrown into the room. The bed was covered in books, coats, and framed photographs. A guitar rested on its stand in the corner. The smell of dust and stagnant air choked him.

He flung open the closet and began to rifle through the clothes, noticing that every article was in sizes he could wear. He turned, and from the other end of the room, saw a photograph on the nightstand. In it, he and Sarah held each other, and in the distance, the Eiffel Tower stood sentinel over them.

Sarah, the real Sarah, stood in horrified awe in the doorway, but she was looking at the items in the room, rather than at Jareth.

Everything fell into place. The dream Sarah, the one who had taken everything from him, invaded his thoughts. His subconscious brain had been trying to warn him. He felt no surprise, but a deep, painful disappointment. She'd taken advantage of whatever had happened to him to wipe his identity from the house. He thought of his first miserable night alone in the rain and wondered what spark of pity had compelled her to bring him home after going to so much effort to erase him.

"How could you do this?" he asked. "How could you be so cruel as to lie to me about who I am? Keep all of these things from me? Tell me they belonged to a man who dumped you? This is my _identity,_ Sarah."

"These aren't your things," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

"The clothes, Sarah! The guitar! I can see my photograph on the nightstand!"

Sarah's head swivelled to the picture. She hesitated, then set her jaw and stepped into the room. She lifted the framed photograph and brought it closer, holding it directly in front of Jareth's face.

"Jareth, this is my boyfriend. _Jason."_

With the photograph nearer, he could see an entirely different blonde man in the picture. He could still see similarities in the way they were built, tall and lanky, but the hair of the man in the picture was significantly shorter, slightly darker, and beginning to recede around the temples. Also, his nose was straighter, and his eyes were brown. Close up, there would be no mistaking Jareth for this man.

"And he didn't dump me," she said, tossing the photograph onto the bed and throwing Jareth one last pained look as she left the room. "He died."

* * *

AN:

Labyrinth is still owned by bunches of people who aren't me. And Exulansist is still a fantastic beta and a remarkable human being.

The first song Jareth plays is "Time of your Life (Good Riddance)" by Green Day. I loathed that song in the late 90s because you couldn't get away from it. Like Sarah and Jareth, I wasn't a fan of the radio, and even I heard it far too many times to enjoy it. Time has softened my attitude towards it, though, and it was one of my major inspirations for this story.

Sadie isn't a self-insert, but I'd be lying if I said her experiences aren't based on my own. I don't miss those days.


	7. Our Heroes Get Their Shit Together

Jareth stared at the space Sarah had occupied a moment earlier, the ice working its way through his body, freezing his veins. Of every thought, every emotion he'd had since he woke up in the park, this was the most foreign and the most uncomfortable. Humiliation. Shame.

He looked at the closet of clothes and the items tossed onto the bed - the belongings of a dead man. Winter coats. Light jackets. All stylishly cut. All in good condition. He wondered how many of the items Sarah had given as gifts to the man who had occupied this room. These items would have fit Jareth. They might have even suited his taste. But she hadn't wanted him to have them. Hadn't even wanted him to know they were here. And now, he understood why.

He turned over a few of the frames that lay scattered on top of the clothes. Smiling faces in each, but the other man, _Jason_, was the common theme in all of them. Some of the photos were candid, but others were formally posed with Sarah in a long dress and a flower on her wrist, Jason in a black jacket with a matching flower on his lapel. In one, they were pressed closely together, smiling at the camera, but the photograph was slightly out of focus. He could see Jason's arm in the shot, obviously holding the camera the wrong way so he could photograph them together. In still others, several young people were clustered together, smiling for the camera with beer bottles or shot glasses raised high. He recognized Sarah and Jason in the crowd.

Sarah's friends. He didn't know she had any, assuming she preferred to be alone.

They all looked happy.

But the smiling man was gone, and so too, it seemed, were the friends.

And Jareth had intruded into his space - into this tomb Sarah had created for her lost love, and perhaps, for her lost life.

He looked at the door. The jamb was splintered and the knob had gouged the drywall where it had hit.

He'd intruded and done damage.

Shame. Humiliation.

He'd been so sure…

He turned off the light and closed the door behind him as best he could.

The jeans were still on the floor in the living room. He folded them carefully, then set them on the couch before collapsing into the chair, head in his hands.

A fool. He'd been an absolute fool. And cruel as well.

He seemed to have a knack for cruelty, he noted. There was no sense of pride accompanying the thought.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, unmoving, before he heard her voice.

"You're still here?"

He looked up, startled. Early morning sunlight was peeking around the edges of the living room curtains.

"Right, right…" Sarah waved her hand as she skirted around the couch and sat down. "You've got nowhere else to go." Her eyes were red and swollen. She sniffed and swiped at her nose with a wad of toilet paper.

"You shouldn't have done that." Her voice was thick, like the words were caught in her throat.

"No," he whispered.

"This is my house and I have things a certain way for a reason."

"Yes."

Sarah waited, her irritation growing. "So what do you say?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his mind a blank. "I…" he swallowed. "I have never felt more ashamed or humiliated in my life…"

"I'd believe it," she interrupted, "Even if you remembered your life. Which you don't."

"Sarah." A plea for understanding.

"What do you say, Jareth?"

His irritation grew. "I am not a child," he snapped.

"No. A child would never have done what you did. I need to know you understand. And I know you won't say something unless you mean it. So say it, or I'll know you don't feel it."

"How do you know what I will or won't say?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I don't know…" he tried.

"And don't tell me that you don't know the right words. Don't you _dare_."

"I'm…" he paused, the word stuck just behind his teeth. "...sorry." He exhaled. It had hurt his pride to say it, but the relief he felt when it had finally come out was exquisite. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

She nodded. "Good. Then I won't have to kick you out."

"You would…?"

"In a New York minute. What you did… The way you invaded… I _should_ kick you out."

"Then why allow me to stay?"

"Because…" Sarah sat back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. "Look, if I'm going to help you, then I am going to _help you_, even if that means doing things you don't like. Do you want help or not."

She waited until Jareth nodded.

"Ok. Then I'm done with the fairy stories and house guest treatment. You are going to listen to me. You are going to do what I tell you to do. You are going to get a job. You are going to earn some money. You are going to learn how to live on your own. And then, when you've done all that. You can move out and know that you will never be dependent on me or anyone else for the rest of your life."

He felt a sickness growing in the pit of his stomach.

Sarah leaned forward. "That expression you're wearing? It's not appropriate. Self-reliance is freedom. Do you understand?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

"Good. Stay right there."

She stood and went down the hallway, returning quickly with the guitar in one hand and the case in another.

"This is nothing special, but it is much better than the one you played at Village Thrift. And it won't cost you anything."

He took the guitar from Sarah, handling it reverently. "But this belonged to…"

"Yes, it did. And he loved it."

She sat on the couch and tucked her legs underneath herself. "He used to sit right there in that chair and play it. Just sort of noodle around. He wasn't bad." She smiled at the memory, and then looked Jareth in the eye. "But he wasn't as good as you. I saw the way you drew a crowd when you played that Harmony. Go do that again in front of the thrift store. I guarantee you'll make some money. Just… you know…" she hesitated and her eyes dropped to the guitar in his hands. "Take care of it, please."

"I will." He examined the guitar, admiring the warm glow of the wood and reverently stroking the strings.

Sarah rubbed her eyes. "I could really go for a pizza right now." She thought for a moment, then frowned. "But I guess I'll settle for teaching you how to cook breakfast."

* * *

Jareth had been staring at it for most of the day now and had finally come to a conclusion. The funniest part about the painting wasn't the fact that the dogs were playing poker; it was that the two in front were cheating. He hadn't thought much of it at first, but then he began to notice the expressions of the dogs. The way the shifty-eyed Saint Bernard was looking at the pipe-smoking Great Dane. The smug Border Collie leaning back in his chair, so sure he was going to win. The clock in the background indicating that the dogs should be just about ready to wrap it up for the night. But all of it was trumped by the Bulldog slipping his buddy a dirty ace.

He chuckled and blew into his hands, hoping to warm his fingers. The cold, rainy October weather was wreaking havoc with his circulation and making it nearly impossible to play. Nevertheless, patrons had been steady, and they were happily dropping coins and bills into his guitar case.

The owner of Village Thrift had stopped by and seemed pleased with the situation. He even directed his lone employee to put a few of the more expensive items in the window and Jareth noticed that more passers-by were going inside to purchase. Secretly, he hoped they didn't take the painting.

"Hey, man."

Jareth looked up and saw a man approaching. He was dressed oddly in heavy black boots and a long, dark green wool coat covered with chains and buttons. Jareth appreciated the flair.

"Hello," Jareth responded.

"New in town?"

Jareth noticed the stranger hadn't even looked at the store window. "Relatively," he replied coolly.

"Cool," the stranger nodded. "Cool."

Jareth played a riff on the guitar, hoping the stranger would keep walking.

"I've been watching you."

Jareth stopped and looked at the man who was now blocking his view of the painting.

"Woah, sorry, that sounded hella creepy. My name's Travis." He held out his hand and Jareth looked at it.

"Jareth," he said, ignoring the offered hand.

"Cool." The man named Travis awkwardly lowered his arm.

Jareth raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I suck at this. Look, I run the record store just over there," Travis pointed down the block and across the street. "And I noticed you over here playing. You're good. Real good."

Jareth relaxed a little.

"But the people in this town aren't going to appreciate you enough to pay you a living." He waited for a response that wouldn't come. After the awkward pause, he continued. "Ok, so hear me out. You're busking for tips, right?"

"Yes," Jareth said, his voice low, almost a warning.

"And Village Thrift here is letting you use their storefront as a way to bring in customers. Right?"

"Yes," he said again.

"But have they offered to pay you?"

Jareth said nothing.

"Because I've watched that old Tiffany lamp sit in that window for over a year. There's no way it would have sold if you hadn't been here. And I think you should be compensated for that."

Jareth waited.

"Ok, let me be transparent. I'd be willing to compensate you."

"For playing in front of the thrift store?"

"Well, no. For playing at _my_ store. Twenty dollars a day, if that's cool."

"Twenty dollars? Every day?" Jareth intended it as a question, but the words came out flat, as if he found the offer insulting.

"Twenty-five, then. Plus you get to keep your tips."

Jareth waited.

"And you can play inside."

"I do believe we have a bargain."

* * *

It took Sadie a little longer to answer the door than normal, and when she did, Sarah had to school her expression to keep from grimacing. She looked awful.

"Hey Sarah." Sadie left the door open and returned to the living room where Marley was crying inconsolably.

"Hi… everything ok?" Sarah closed the door behind her.

"She won't stop crying," Sadie said through gritted teeth as she lifted the infant and started to walk around the room, patting her back.

"Want me to try?"

"Yes. Please."

Sarah took the squalling infant and held her against her chest. She felt the diaper to see if it needed changed, but it felt fine. "She's eaten? Been burped?"

"I've tried _everything."_

"No fever," Sarah said, feeling the baby's forehead. "And I'm pretty sure it's too early for teeth." She looked in the baby's mouth anyway, then looked at the baby's stocking feet. "Did you check her toes for strings?"

"Yes, I did all of that, and she just won't calm down." A tear trailed down Sadie's cheek.

"Oh Sadie… Please don't cry. Look, you're doing everything right. Sometimes babies just cry and there's nothing you can do. How about you go lie down for a little bit and try to get some sleep. I'll take a shift taking care of her."

"I can't sleep when she's crying. Like, I think I might be biologically incapable of it."

Sarah gave her a sad smile. "Ok, would a shower help? Block the sound a little bit so you can relax?"

Sadie looked reluctantly at the baby.

"It's ok. Like I said, you're doing everything right. And you need a break. I'm here and I've got experience with this, so no need to worry."

Sadie nodded, then turned to go to the bathroom.

"All right, little miss," Sarah said to the baby. "Auntie Sarah is here to help. You can cry your heart out all you want. I'm gonna be right here in case you need anything."

Sarah paced the room, bouncing the baby gently in her arms, but nothing would console her. She rubbed the baby's back in what she hoped was a comforting way and felt sweat on the baby's head.

"Aw, you poor thing… crying so hard you're sweating! Come on…" Sarah sat down on the couch and laid the baby next to her. She unbuttoned the fleecy white pajamas and slipped the baby out. She calmed instantly.

Sarah goggled. "Was that all it was? You were hot?" She laughed. "Oh, you silly thing…" She laid the baby on her lap, head by her knees, feet against her belly, and made faces.

The baby simply stared in response.

"Still too little for that, I guess," she said, then played with Marley's feet, circling her little legs and singing quiet songs to her.

Marley stared, wide-eyed.

"Did you drug her or something?" Sadie asked when she came out of the bathroom, her hair still dripping.

"She was hot."

Sadie looked at Sarah, mouth agape, then burst into tears.

Sarah quickly tucked the baby into her swing, then hugged Sadie. "What's wrong?"

"I tried everything, Sarah! _Everything!_ And then you come in and have her quiet and happy in less than a minute!"

Sarah didn't try to correct her.

"Why am I such a bad mom?"

"You're not a bad mom!"

"You don't know, Sarah," Sadie sniffed. "I keep having these thoughts…" She shuddered. "And Charles is in the city and my mom isn't here nearly as much as she promised to be. Do you know she decided to go to Boston for the next two weeks? Said she wanted to see the leaves. Marley's her only grandchild and we have leaves here!" The last word came out as a wail.

Sarah hugged her friend harder and made comforting shushing noises. "It's ok," she said. "Listen, I can take care of Marley. Why don't you go lay down?"

"Because my house is a wreck." The tears made Sadie's voice thick and garbled. "I haven't had a chance to pick up anything and the dishes are dirty and I need to sanitize some bottles so I can use my pump…"

"Ok. I can handle all of that."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're going to bed."

Sarah could see the storm in Sadie's mind growing darker. "But I need…"

"What every human being needs: a decent night's rest," Sarah interrupted calmly. "You're a good mom, Sadie, but it gets harder to be a good mom when you're physically and mentally exhausted. Let me take care of the non-mommy work. You just take care of mommy. Do you have pumped milk in the fridge?"

"Yeah, a little… but I can't just let you do everything for me, Sarah."

"I insist. _Go to bed."_

"And you'll wake me up if she needs me?"

"Of course."

The tears continued to fall. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll see you in a few hours."

Sarah watched as Sadie went up the stairs and listened for the click of the bedroom door closing, then she wound up Marley's swing, and looked around the house to form a plan of attack.

Kitchen first, she decided, then began loading the dishwasher. She squashed jealous thoughts as she loaded it up and started it. She'd planned to install one in her own house, but with everything that had happened…

Next, Sarah moved into the living room, picking up baby gear and either putting it away or throwing it into the hamper in the laundry room. She started a load of laundry for good measure, and even peeked into the bathroom to see if it needed any work. Luckily, it was surprisingly clean.

After quickly dusting the surfaces in the living room, she pulled out a dust mop and ran it over the hardwood floors. She hesitated to vacuum but remembered Karen running it when Toby napped. "They need to get used to noise, or they'll wake up for every sound," she'd said.

Cleaning someone else's house didn't seem so bad compared to cleaning her own, she mused, and she wasn't quite sure if it was the novelty of the state-of-the-art appliances or the fact that Sadie hadn't let it pile up that had made it easier.

Marley started fussing soon after the work was finished, but Sarah still felt pretty fresh, so she took a bottle out of the fridge and set it in the warmer, then walked the baby into the nursery and changed her diaper. By the time she was done, the bottle was ready to go and she settled onto the couch until Marley finished it.

It took just as long to burp the baby as it had the first time Sarah had tried, and Sarah began to understand Sadie's frustration. But the baby's wind eventually came up and Sarah put her back to sleep using the same rocking and singing she'd used before.

Sarah was on the couch watching TV and carefully inserting her fingers into Bugles when Sadie unexpectedly flopped onto the couch next to her.

Sarah jumped, then looked at her friend.

"Did you go to bed with wet hair?"

Sadie felt the frizzy mass on top of her head. "Yep. And I'd do it again, too." She reached across and grabbed a handful of Bugles from the box in Sarah's lap. She looked at Sarah's fingers. "What are you, five?"

"This is how you're supposed to eat them. It's the law." Sarah stuck a finger in her mouth, caught the corn chip with her teeth, and pulled it off.

"When you're right, you're right," Sadie said, then started putting Bugles on her own fingers.

"Feeling better?"

"Feeling _human_," Sadie corrected. "Sorry about all that…" she waved her hand, "_stuff_ earlier."

Sarah nodded.

"Nobody told me this was going to be this hard."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that's _all_ they said during that crappy sex ed session our Sophomore year. Like teenagers are going to believe it," Sarah scoffed.

"You did."

"Yeah, well, teenagers with baby siblings at home probably don't need to be told, so it was still a waste of time. Although," she said after a moment of consideration, "It's probably best for the future of the human race that we find out only after the baby is born."

"Amen, sister." Sadie crunched a corn chip. "So how are things at chez Williams?"

Sarah nodded and put another chip in her mouth. "Fine."

"I've been trapped in this house all week with hardly any visitors and I need to live vicariously, so you're going to need to do a whole lot better than 'fine.'"

Sarah smirked. "I think we've come to an agreement."

Sadie raised her eyebrows, encouraging Sarah to continue.

"I kept my promise. I'm going to help him. _Really_ help him."

"Help him how?"

"Basically live. It's like he has never had to take care of himself before. He's a blank slate."

Sadie looked over at Marley.

"I see what you did there, and I appreciate it, but it's not the same. Jareth doesn't cry inconsolably when he gets overheated."

"So what you're saying is, he's more mature than most men."

"Stop it," Sarah chided goodnaturedly. "He's got no job, no education to speak of, no skills…" She paused and considered. "Well, that's not entirely true. He is one hell of a musician. But the chances of him making money doing that? Basically slim to none. I just don't know what else he can do."

"Wait, so you have a homeless, illiterate man living in your house. Sarah, I'm beginning to think I gave you bad advice."

Sarah laughed. "I'm probably the last person on earth to stick up for him, but he's not quite as bad as all that. He reads, at least. I'm pretty sure." She thought back to his anger over the library books. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure he can read."

Sadie hummed. "That's a low bar. You're probably right about the music thing, but I guess it's possible. Stranger things have happened."

Sarah thought for a moment. "I gave him Jason's guitar."

"Really?" Sadie breathed in disbelief.

"Oh, don't look at me that way. I wasn't going to use it, was I? No. It was just going to sit there and collect dust and never be used. I don't know… maybe I shouldn't have," Sarah waffled. "Whatever. What's done is done. But I'm telling you, Sadie, he can make that guitar sing."

"He still playing over at Village Thrift?"

"He was. Making decent tips, too. Not enough to get his own place, but enough to buy a few things he'll need when he eventually moves out. That is, if he stops blowing it all on second-hand cassettes."

"I guess budgeting might be next on the curriculum?"

"You better believe it," Sarah said. "But here's something cool: Do you remember Travis Kasekamp?"

"The goth kid who graduated when we were freshmen? Always with the headphones?"

"That's the one. You know he owns Granny's Music now, right?"

"Really? No, I hadn't heard."

"Yep. Inherited it from his Granny." Sarah snickered and Sadie narrowed her eyes, unamused. "Puns aside, he really did get it from his grandparents."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Karen told me. She heard it from Mrs. Phommachack who said she heard it from Travis's mom."

"His whole life is starting to make more sense to me. But go on…"

"Ok, so he actually approached Jareth the other day. Said he'd pay him to play _inside_ the store. Twenty-five per day plus tips."

Sadie did some math in her head. "That's not even minimum wage. Is that legal?"

"Not even a little. But he's paying him under the table, so…"

"He shouldn't accept that. It's basically robbery."

"He doesn't have a choice if he has no papers."

Sadie looked confused.

"British accent? Stranger in town?"

Sadie's confused expression lasted a second longer, then the lightbulb over her head flickered on. "Ohhhh."

"Yeah. So he'll take what he can get."

Sadie screwed up her face. "I don't like it. If he can't work legally, he can't get housing legally either. How's he supposed to live if he can't do something so basic?"

"That sounds like a him problem to me."

"So much for charity," Sadie teased.

"Gotta draw the line somewhere," Sarah agreed.

Sadie thought for a moment, then said, "Can't argue with that, I guess." She stuck another corn-chip-finger in her mouth.

Marley wiggled in her swing and whined, and Sadie sighed. "Here we go again."

"You. Sit," Sarah commanded when Sadie moved to stand.

Sarah rose and got Marley out of her swing, then took her to the nursery to change her diaper. Sadie was giving her a quizzical look when she returned.

"Special delivery," Sarah joked as she handed the baby to Sadie.

Sadie unsnapped her nursing bra and hissed as Marley latched on.

"Damn, that hurts…" she whispered. She relaxed after a moment, then sat back and watched as Sarah moved around the kitchen, attaching a freshly washed bottle to the breast pump.

"I figured you'd probably have a bit extra since you missed a feeding. May as well pump it to rebuild your store and keep your milk production up." She set the pump on the coffee table within Sadie's reach, then joined her on the couch, turning her attention back to the TV.

"Sarah?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever considered a career in child care?"

Sarah snorted.

"I'm serious."

"At this point, I'd consider a career in anything. But where's a girl like me going to get work in a town like this?"

"I know of at least one place."

"Sure," Sarah scoffed.

"I'm serious, Sarah. What do you think about nannying for me?"

Sarah stared at Sadie. "What, really?"

"Sure. I pay well, plus I have cable and snacks. Speaking of, hand me the Bugles."

"How well?" Sarah asked as she passed the box over to Sadie.

"Five fifty per week."

"That's too much."

"Nope. It's standard. I checked."

Sarah laughed in disbelief. "When did you check?"

"Ok, not me. My mom researched it when I was in my second trimester. She gave me a printout of a bunch of people and their prices - all vetted and everything. Probably should've been a red flag now that I think about it…"

"How about five hundred?"

"You are terrible at negotiating, Sarah. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Sarah laughed. "Ok. Five fifty, but I'm also going to help out around the house, too. You're going to have me fill out a W-4, right? And an I-9? Keep everything above the table?"

"Oh, stop it."

Sarah laughed, then let the smile fade from her face. "Seriously, though… I don't want to take advantage of you."

"Sarah," Sadie said, her face as serious as death. "You have no idea what you did for me today. _No idea_. I need you here. Please."

"How about this: I do this, but only until the new year. And then we can decide if we want to keep doing it, or if it's making our friendship too weird. Deal?"

Sadie grinned and relaxed. "Deal."


End file.
